by Phil Tucker
"How...?"
The medusa smiled, her sensuous lips curling in amusement to reveal milk-white fangs. "You have been kissed, little kragh. You are now of my brood. My venom courses through you. You may gaze upon me, though you should know it still lies within my power to shrivel you into stone should I desire it."
"I am... of your brood," mused Tharok, looking down at himself: at the blackened skin, the faint and subtle red tint on the ridges of his hand. Like the blue that dwelled in Maur's hair, he thought.
"Do not overvalue the change," said the medusa. "Being of my brood does nothing to enhance your chances of remaining safe."
Tharok glanced past her at the charred and headless remains of the male medusa. Such was clearly the case.
"So," he said, taking control of the moment, of himself, of his future. "Three days hence, the Red River and the Crokuk will host a Grand Convocation of all the highland tribes that wish to attend. Word has no doubt begun to spread, sent out by messenger. It may take longer for the more distant tribes to hear and begin to travel toward the Shattered Temple. Regardless, Nakrok of the Crokuk fancies himself the victor of the hour. He seeks to co-opt my Red River tribe and emerge as warlord. I would not have it so."
The medusa inclined her head a little. Not quite a nod.
"With your aid," he went on, "we shall venture higher into the peaks. We shall move to the ridges that overlook some of the less-traveled passes through the mountains, and there we shall gain control of the stone trolls. With their number and your presence, we shall descend amongst the kragh at the moment of Nakrok's glory and seize control of them all. Once again you will be hailed as a goddess and worshipped, and I shall re-establish myself as warlord of the Red River, a position I was ousted from by Nakrok's treachery. Then we shall sweep all the other tribes before us before falling upon the human city of Abythos like a hammer upon an anvil."
The medusa listened, never staying still, her coils slowly turning and gyrating, her lushly female body swaying before him. He kept his gaze firmly on her bronze-colored eyes, ignoring the amused cast of her lips.
"Take control of the stone trolls," she mused. "How do you intend to do that?"
"I have the power through the circlet of commanding their minds. But with you by my side, there might be no need to do so. Stone trolls are given to eating the finest of ores, the richest of mineral rocks. They never move far from their mountain homes because of the dearth of rock, the lack of a consistent supply of food. With your powers, we can ensure they are always well fed. And, if I am correct, there is no greater delicacy for a stone troll than flesh petrified by the gaze of a medusa."
Silence greeted his statement. Then she laughed again, and Tharok finally allowed himself to relax. He had not known if he would greatly offend her with that idea. It appeared that the medusa, or at least this one in particular, were not sentimental.
"And the source of victims, little kragh? What manner of sacrifice would you be willing to make in order to fund this venture?"
"Whoever refuses to follow me," he said, raising his chin. "There will be those who hew to tradition. Who refuse to recognize my legitimacy. Who wish to remain loyal to their old tribes and allegiances. They will be given a choice, and succumbing to your gaze will be their final incentive."
"You would do such a thing?" mused the medusa. "You would offer your own kind up to me as in the days of old? Do you not fear that this will turn them against you?"
From the continued amusement in her voice, Tharok could tell that she was unconcerned about the morality of the situation ---- that she was, if anything, mocking his own serious intent.
"I do not fear that they will turn against me," he said, each word falling like a stone dropped into a well. "Rather, I know that it will be fear that will keep them true. Fear, and greed, as victory mounts upon victory. Greed, the enjoyment of war and destruction. We shall light a fire, you and I. We shall light a fire that will burn all that is to the ground, and in its place we shall construct a new world."
The medusa ceased her swaying, and finally the amusement left her lips. She gazed at him, and he met her gaze full-on, allowing its piercing intensity to fill his head with the same white heat and light that must dwell in the core of the sun.
Then her eyes began to change. The crimson vertical slits began to swell, to grow broader, and he felt the skin on his face begin to heat and blister. Fiery red consumed her eyeballs until it seemed as if he was gazing into the heart of a volcano. This, he thought. This is what it feels like to be truly consumed by the medusa.
It was agony most sweet, a high musical note sustained into quavering and instability, wavering and then nearly breaking. It felt like that delirious point of ecstasy during the climax of rutting extended beyond tolerance, ecstasy without surcease, ecstasy become intolerable.
Her eyes grew to fill his world, to consume his vision. He felt his knees hit the rock. He couldn't breathe – and no longer wished to.
This was the end, then. This was the end, and in truth, there was no other way he would rather die.
Then she blinked. The world of flame and ecstasy was torn away from him, leaving him bereft and blind in the natural light of the afternoon and the gloom of the cave. He shuddered, exhaled painfully, and raised his hands to touch his face. He found only smooth, undamaged skin, closed his eyes, and felt scalding tears run down his cheeks.
"Know, kragh, whom you deal with. There was a time, before the memory of your people, when I was worshipped as a goddess. When kragh willingly gave themselves to me; when I was plied with flesh and wealth so that your high priests might enjoy my kiss and suffer the weight of my gaze. I shall go with you, but never think that I serve you. Are we clear?"
Tharok did not answer immediately. He rose to his feet, hauling himself upright. His vision was returning, his sense of self. He felt cleansed, purified, both light and lost. Slowly he raised his face and met the medusa's gaze. Now her eyes were simple orbs of bronze with only an intimation of eternity within their red slits.
"Yes," he said.
"You may call me Kyrrasthasa. I have had other names, other titles, but for now that will suffice."
"Kyrrasthasa," he said. "And my name is Tharok, of the Red River tribe."
The medusa nodded and slowly began to recede into the darkness. "Come dusk, we go. You have until then to rest."
Tharok watched as she coiled back into her nesting chamber, disappearing through the slender opening in the cavern wall, deep into the darkness therein. Then he nodded and looked down at his ebon skin.
He had done it. He had healed himself, and he had enlisted the aid of a medusa. By the Sky Father, he said to himself in wonder, he had done it.
But at what price?
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Morning sunlight stirred Asho out of a restless sleep. He groaned and turned his head away from the light, but that made his stomach roil. He stiff-armed himself up to a seated position as he began to dry heave, head pounding, eyes filled with grit. For a few moments the world was reduced to his retching, his whole body straining to vomit though nothing came up but sour spit and bile.
"You nearly burned yourself out altogether, Master Asho," said the sympathetic voice of a woman by his side.
Asho raised his face, sweat beading his brow, then fell back onto his pallet and closed his eyes. A cool cloth, deliciously soothing, was patted across his brow, but it did little to abate the feverish pain that smoldered in the depths of his joints and made his bones ache.
"You will survive, though. You are young and strong. But it will take some time before you feel completely healed. I would guess... perhaps a month."
"Who..?"
Asho cracked open his eyes and looked up at an older woman dressed in the purple and yellows of the Agerastian Sin Casters. Her features were as strong as they were plain, with a high forehead and small eyes. She looked ill herself, a sheen of sweat dampening her skin, but there was in her gaze a glow of wry humor and intelligence
that made Asho immediately warm to her.
"You may call me Alasha." She dipped the white cloth into a bowl by her side. "I saw you fighting last night beside the young Lady Kyferin. Most impressive."
"Kethe?" Asho forced himself to sit up again and looked past Alasha at the rest of the hall, seeking a shock of auburn hair.
"She is gone." Alasha gently pushed him back down. "Taken by your magister to Aletheia last night. She was very ill after the battle. Dying, I think. Lady Kyferin decided that her only hope of survival lay with the Virtues."
"Dying..?" Asho's soul twisted upon itself in despair.
"Lady Iskra asked that I call her when you woke." Alasha rose stiffly to her feet. "I have much to ask you, Master Asho. What you did last night was beyond anything I have ever seen. Then again, the sheer amount of magic saturating the air here..." She trailed off in amazement, raising a hand as if she could cup the magic in her palm. "I would learn of your bonding to Kethe. I would learn everything." She hesitated, then said, "I want you to think of me as a friend. I will teach you the methods we Vothak have discovered to speed up the recovery from burning out as you have done. In exchange, I look forward to many conversations. Now, please wait a moment."
Asho closed his eyes. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want new friends. He wanted Kethe – wanted to pull her close against him, to shield her from the world. He thought of their final fall, both of them clinging to that demon, blades implanted in its body as they channeled such might that not even the demon's terrible power had been able to withstand it. He saw again Kethe blazing out and falling unconscious. He had known, even then, as they had plummeted toward the earth, that she had done too much.
Now she was gone to the Virtues. Would they help her? They had to – she was connected to the White Gate! But she had helped him kill Makaria, one of their number. What if they laughed at Audsley and threw her into a prison to let her die?
Asho elbowed himself back upright. He had to follow. He had to protect her -
"Asho." Lady Kyferin lowered herself down to sit by his side. He saw in her eyes the same pain he felt tearing him apart. "She's gone," she said softly. "I pray that the Virtues have enough decency left in their hearts to take her in."
He wanted to protest, to call her a fool for sending her daughter to the enemy, but the insults died on his lips. What choice had she had? No one here could heal Kethe. Would they ever see Kethe again? Would he?
Lady Kyferin gently pressed him back down to the pallet. "If anybody here understands my pain, it is you, dear Asho. I see it in your face."
"Will they - can they heal her?"
Lady Kyferin laced her hands in her lap. "I don't know."
Kethe. Brave and proud, strong and defiant, impatient and passionate, wounded and near broken. It was too difficult to summon memories of their time alone together yesterday. The very intensity of those memories made them too dangerous to bring to mind.
He inhaled with a shaky breath. Kethe.
"Can you tell me what's happened since I left?" Lady Kyferin took up the wet cloth Alasha had left behind and wiped his brow. "Where is everyone? At Hrething?"
"Some." Asho forced himself to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry, my lady. Ser Wyland has deserted us, and with him Brocuff and a number of our remaining guards. He left for the Talon yesterday morning."
Lady Kyferin froze, her hand in mid-air with the cloth gripped between her fingers. Asho watched as she struggled with this news, then she looked down, hiding her face, and focused on wetting the cloth in the bowl of water. She twisted the cloth till her knuckles were white and no more water dropped into the bowl.
"Did he explain himself before he left?" she asked.
"He did, my lady." Asho wished that he could rise, could deliver this news with more dignity. As it was, he looked up at the great hall's raftered ceiling to give Lady Kyferin some measure of privacy. "He said that he could no longer serve you. That you had become an enemy of Ascension by allying with the Agerastians, and that he refused to fight the coming demons to further your goals." Asho hesitated. "I called him a hypocrite, and told him that Ascension was his excuse for acting like a coward. Kethe did the same. He swore to treat us all as enemies if he saw us again."
Iskra's eyes blazed. "You did? Good." She mopped at his brow and the fire in her eyes dimmed. "I shouldn't be surprised, but still. His betrayal cuts me to the quick. Oh Jander." She shook her head sadly. "Everything is changing, Asho. The very world, my understanding of it. Is there a higher truth to Ascension that defies the corrupt actions of its adherents here on earth? I no longer know."
Asho was unsure if her question was rhetorical. Almost he held his tongue. "Kethe said that she no longer believed in Ascension, my lady. That she was proud to follow you no matter the consequences."
Iskra smiled. "Oh Kethe. But it's true. I see it now. Ascension has always claimed that those born into a higher station were more spiritual evolved. Yet what I've always seen is Ennoians, Sigeans, and Aletheians using their higher station as justification for their depravity. I don't know. Perhaps I now seek excuses of my own to justify my alliance with the Agerastians." She wrung the cloth of its water. "I've sworn an allegiance with their emperor. I have declared war on the Empire."
Asho nodded somberly. "I think you might have done that the moment you refused to submit to Lord Laur."
Iskra smiled again, a brittle expression, and mopped his brow once more. "Perhaps. But enough of my doubts. What of Elon? The servants?"
"They descended to Hrething after we convinced them they couldn't be of help against the demons." Asho closed his eyes as a wave of nausea passed through him. "They await us there."
"What happened, Asho?" Lady Kyferin's voice was quiet, filled with wonder and disbelief. "Why this sudden attack? What happened up at Skarpheðinn Range? The Black Shriving is meant to still be weeks and weeks away."
So Asho told her. In sparse, simple language, he spoke of their ascent, their fights, their discovery of the tunnels and the Black Gate at their bottom. Of the demon lord, his promise, and Mæva's sacrifice. How he and Kethe had fled down the mountain. Then, at Lady Kyferin's urging, he told her how he and Kethe had fought off the demons till Audsley flew into the fray, launching fire.
"Wait." Lady Kyferin sat back. "Audsley? He flew? Threw fire?"
"Yes," said Asho, his throat starting to burn from talking so much. "He and the Agerastians helped turn the tide so that Kethe and I could launch our attack."
"He made no mention of these new powers." She rose to her feet, and Asho thought she would stride away, but instead she turned back and stood over him. "But then I didn't give him much of a chance to talk. It must have happened during his stay at Starkadr. Why did he not speak to us of this? Ser Tiron!"
Her voice was pure command. A few moments later Ser Tiron strode up, hand on the hilt of his sword, face grim, his brows lowered. "What's wrong?"
"Audsley. Did he speak to you of learning any supernatural abilities while he was in Starkadr?"
Tiron looked relieved. "Why - yes. He spoke of demon-possessed objects that allowed him to kill a demon. Why?"
Asho rose to his elbows. "I didn't see him using any objects. The fire came directly from his palms."
The three of them gazed at each other in stunned silence till Tiron shook his head. "Whatever he has learned, he is our friend and ally." Tiron paused, a thought occurring to him. "He told me that Aedelbert had fled him after he killed the demon." Tiron rubbed his chin. "Perhaps his firecat sensed this change."
"If he has acquired the ability to Sin Cast, or something along those lines, then I have sent him to his death. I've sent him to Aletheia." Iskra pressed her hands to the sides of her face and sank back down to sit by Asho's side.
"He said something else," said Tiron. "That he and Aedelbert would seek healing there. At the time I thought he meant their relationship. Perhaps he was alluding to something else." Tiron scowled. "I should have questioned him more closely."
"N
o, you were nearly collapsing from exhaustion. This isn't on you, Tiron. I'm the one who acted too precipitously. I've doomed Audsley, and through him I've killed Kethe."
Tiron crouched by her side and took her hand. "Hold on. You don't know that. I've never met a man more intelligent than our magister. Brave, as well, in his own way. Whatever has happened to him, he'll use his wits and every resource at his disposal to take care of Kethe. You have to believe that, Iskra."
Asho felt a jolt of alarm and sat up. "Wait. Isn't he the only one who can open Starkadr's Portals? If he's arrested by the Aletheians, then how are we to connect with Agerastos?"
Both Lady Kyferin and Tiron stared at him blankly for a moment, then Tiron rose to his feet. "Enough. We must trust in Audsley. That is all we can do."
Lady Kyferin sank her head into her hands. "Why didn't he reveal the truth to me?"
"Come," said Tiron gruffly. "Let's step outside, my lady."
He helped her rise to her feet, and Asho saw her eyes, wild with shock though the rest of her face was blank of expression. Ser Tiron took her by the arm and gently escorted her out.
Asho wanted to sink back onto his pallet, but instead he forced himself to take a deep breath and rose shakily to his feet. He stood swaying, about to give up the attempt, when Alasha hurried over from where she had been tending her two fallen comrades and took his arm.
"You shouldn't be up," she said.
"I can't sit around." The room swam, and he struggled to steady himself. "How long will I feel like this?"
"This bad? Three or four days." Alasha helped him stumble across the great hall, her arm surprisingly strong beneath his own. "In a week, you'll be able to walk by yourself. A week after that, run a little. Within a month, all the illness will have passed. We have discovered that lying in cold running water helps clear the taint from one's body for some reason. You'll be spending a fair amount of time in rivers over the next few weeks. And, oh, don't be alarmed if you piss blood for a few days."