by Jon Hollins
She had been … Barph had been about to … Death had breathed its flames directly into her face.
And yet she was still here. She was still alive. Barph had let her go. Because … because …
Because of Will Fallows.
She didn’t understand. She wasn’t sure she cared to. But his actions had saved her.
Slowly, painfully she rolled onto all fours, spread her wings, and beat at the air. She lifted up into the sky. It was time for her to leave this place. Not to run, perhaps, but to regroup, plan, calculate a new angle of attack.
She slowly spiraled upward, trying to use the thermals from the fires sprouting everywhere to gain height and freedom.
She could see Barph beneath her, running madly across the rubble of his fallen palace, his hair and robes streaming out behind him—ragged and torn. He was chasing someone. Will, she realized. Barph was about to catch him and end him.
One of her enemies about to kill the other. And she regretted that she would not be the one to kill Will Fallows, but …
And as the thermals finally filled her wings and buffeted her away, an unexpected emotion filled her mind: doubt.
Because she had goals in mind for the life that came after this, but … how would she achieve them? How would she kill Barph? How would she seize the heavens?
She did not understand the gods. She did not understand how they lived or how they died. She did not understand how she could kill one.
But Will Fallows did.
And she did not like Will, or his plans, but there was an efficacy to them that had, as much as she hated to admit it, evaded her all her life.
And as she watched, it seemed to her that Will Fallows was not just running away from Barph. He was running toward something. He had a purpose.
Will Fallows had plans. He had ways to achieve his goals.
Would Will Fallows be easier to kill than Barph? Could she even save him? Could she delay Barph for long enough? Could Will Fallows truly defeat the god?
What did she believe?
She circled once, twice. She thought she could see her way out of here, an escape glinting past the ruins and the tangle of the overgrown gardens.
Barph was almost on Will.
What did she believe?
She let out a long frustrated howl. Then, talons outstretched, she swooped down, aiming directly for Barph’s eyes.
She believed in Will Fallows.
75
The Bigger They Are …
Death, Will knew now, was a shadow. Death was a crushing fear descending just beyond the corner of your eye. Death was the knowledge of exactly how fruitless and pointless all your hopes and dreams were.
Death was Barph’s foot coming to crush you into oblivion.
He felt the foot crash down behind him more than he heard it. The massive expulsion of air and dust blasting over him. The quake running through the floor.
The next footfall. That would be it.
He could see the edge of the rubble field. The end of the fallen palace. But the gardens stretched for a mile beyond. The gates of the heavens were still not in sight. And there was no way he could reach them. There was just no way.
Barph’s foot rose. Will ran. Will waited for Barph’s foot to descend.
And then, from nowhere: a spark.
Inside Will, a beast left forgotten and starving caught the scent of food and stirred its head.
Will felt it. He felt all of it. And he recognized it. And Will knew that somehow, somewhere, someone believed in him.
He felt the scrap of the Deep One that had wormed its way into his heart and mind wriggling. He felt it sucking on that scrap of belief for all it was worth. And there was fear in that, and horror, but above all there was a question: Who? Who here, and now, could possibly believe in him?
There was a roar, and a flurry of wings. Barph bellowed.
Barph’s foot didn’t fall.
Will needed to run. He needed to put his head down and run until his heart burst from the effort. His only focus had to be on what was ahead of him.
Still, Will turned back and looked over his shoulder.
Yorrax. Yorrax was back for more. Her talons were buried in the sides of Barph’s face. She was biting, and hacking, and howling, and breathing fire and flame into his eyes.
Barph staggered, ripped at her, roared back twice as loud as the dragon.
It was a desperate, futile, foolhardy attack. But it bought Will time. It bought him time because—gods, he could feel it—she believed in him. There was a piece of her, no matter how grudging, that still thought he could be a god.
It wasn’t much. It was only a scrap, a spark in an ocean of night. It would be gone in an instant. Yorrax’s life would be gone in an instant. But for just a moment, it was his.
And perhaps it was all he needed.
Will folded space around him. He took hold of the gates of the heavens with his mind, and hauled himself toward them.
The spark flared in him. He felt it flicker. It was about to die. He let go. One last ember. He had to hold on to one last ember. If he didn’t, this was all for naught.
He looked around. And gods, gods, gods, maybe, just maybe it had been enough. Because suddenly the palace ruins were far behind him. Suddenly the glow of the gates was startlingly close.
There was a draconic scream behind him, and the rhythm of Barph’s pounding feet, but far distant now. He was closing the distance, but Will had time. Perhaps just enough time.
He ran. And he ran. And he ran. He hurdled branches, tore through brambles, left behind his skin, carried on uncaring.
Behind him Barph grew closer. The footfalls approaching like thunder.
And then he saw the gates. Still broken, still twisted, but beautiful all the same. And beyond them … not the miles of clouds they had flown through to get here. But Avarra. The whole world spread out below him. Each country and coastline clear. The whole beauty and scope of creation spread out before him. He could see everything he was trying to save.
He looked back. And gods, Barph was close. How had he gotten so close?
“No more!” Barph screamed, his eyes full of everything but sanity. “No more of you!”
Will scrambled to the edge of the gates. The ground came to a ragged end inches from his feet. Wind beckoned and billowed at him, pulled him toward that terrible fall.
He looked back again.
Barph was breaking free of the garden. Barph was twenty yards behind him. Two giant paces. “An ending of everything you are!” Barph screamed.
This plan was stupid. This plan was going to get him killed. But in the end, that was the whole point. For something to truly be worth fighting for, it had to be worth dying for. Lette had understood that. And Quirk. And Balur. And now finally Will did too. It was just a question of making his death count.
It was a question of where he was killed.
Will’s heart was a hammer beating in his throat, and he couldn’t breathe, and he had never been more scared in his life.
For Lette. For Quirk. For Balur.
Will jumped.
The wind punched him. A balled fist of it smashing into his already well-smashed face. Into his gut. His legs. His gods-hexed balls. It tore at his hair, plunged icy fingers into his eyes. He tried to breathe. Couldn’t. He tried to control his tumbling plunge. Couldn’t. He caught glimpses of Barph standing on the edge of the heavens staring down at him in hatred and rage.
Come on. Come on.
The wind forced tears from his eyes, obscured his vision.
Come on.
One way or another this plan was going to kill him. Now it was just a question of how: Barph or the ground.
A gust of wind whipped the tears away. For a moment everything was clear, and Will so desperately wished he had someone to pray to.
And then Barph jumped. He dived. Hands outstretched. Fingers held like claws. His anger and madness and grief riding him all the way down. Barph jumped from the heavens and he c
ame to kill Will.
And Will smiled, and he blew on the very last scrap of divinity that was left in his heart.
He grew. He grew, and he grew, and he grew. Larger and larger and larger, feeling the unreality of his suddenly massive body, feeling the way the wind pounded against it changing. He grew until he dwarfed even Barph.
And then, then he was finally and utterly spent. All his divine magic gone.
Barph sneered, even as he plunged through the air toward Will. And he grew as well. And then they were both vast giants tumbling toward the ground, only the wind and the clouds beneath them. But one was spent, and one had all the belief in Avarra powering him.
Then they collided in midair, and Will flailed, and with a snarl Barph closed his fingers around Will’s throat.
76
The View from the Cheap Seats
Cois craned back hir head and stared.
All about hir, the populace of Essoa was doing the same. All of them shading their eyes and watching the heavens. All across Avarra, zhe was sure, everyone was doing the same. Because in all of Avarra’s history, in all of its myths and legends, zhe was certain that nothing like this had ever happened before.
Two titans were tumbling through the sky. Figures vast beyond imagining. They grappled and bit and fought as they fell. And zhe knew them both.
Will and Barph were in the sky, fighting furiously. And even from here, it was obvious one of them would be dead long before they hit the ground.
77
… The Harder They Fall
“An ending,” Barph said, through gritted teeth and through the howling of the wind. “A cessation of all things.”
He saw it now. He saw it and it was beautiful. It had been there since before the beginning of time. It had been waiting. Waiting for him. It was the very thing Lawl had always been trying to counter, to strive against.
The Void.
The Void was chaos. The Void was anarchy. The Void was the annulment of all rules, all orders and hierarchies. It was freedom in its purest, most absolute sense.
Lawl had created life. So Barph would free all the world from life. He would send all of creation to the Void.
And the first person he would send there would be Will Fallows. Will would see. Will would understand. Will would stop fighting. Stop resisting. Stop trying to undermine him at every turn. His god. His master.
He could feel Will’s neck beneath his fingers. The stringy muscles and ropy sinews, the hard bulge of his Adam’s apple. He could feel the sweat and the oils of his skin. He could feel Will’s increasingly weak thrashing.
“Yes,” he breathed through gritted teeth. “You see now. You see how I free everyone.”
Will gurgled and flopped.
And it was so easy. Finally it was so easy. It was as if with Lawl’s murder the scales had finally fallen from Barph’s eyes. He had been so caught up in what other people thought. In trying to please the people. But he knew best. Everyone just needed to shut up and listen.
“Shut up, Will,” he said as Will gurgled and spasmed. “Shut up. I deny your voice. I condemn it.” He giggled to himself even as the wind whipped and tore at his robes and beard.
And yet, even in the purity of his certainty, something felt wrong.
He tried to put his finger on it. Below them the ground rushed toward them. Geographical features resolved out of the haze.
One of his hands slipped free of Will’s neck. Will gurgled. Barph battled the wind to try to bring the hand back to bear, but suddenly his arm felt weak. He struggled. Will bucked beneath him.
Barph gave up on finesse, slammed his elbow down into Will’s face. Will’s nose shattered, and blood streamed up toward the heavens, a sparkling red trail through the sky. And yet Barph’s elbow also sang with pain. He wanted to grab it, but his grip on Will’s neck felt precarious, the strength in his fingers slipping.
He brought his hand down again, straight into Will’s face. Again. Again. He felt bones giving way, the skin breaking.
His other hand flew free of Will’s neck, unable to maintain its grip.
Will’s jaw was moving slightly, mumbling something unintelligible.
“No!” Barph screamed. “Shut up! I compel you! I end you! An ending of speech!”
He clasped both his hands above his head, gripping Will’s chest with his knees, riding him down. And his grip felt weak. His hands shaky. What was wrong with him?
He smashed his hands down into Will’s face again, again, again. Will’s face became a red mask, blood sheeting off it. And yet with each blow Barph felt weaker and weaker. His breathing grew ragged.
“What are you doing?” he gasped. “What are—”
But no. He was god. The one god. The only god. He didn’t ask questions. He dictated. He demanded.
“No more!” he tried to scream, but his voice was little more than a wheeze. “No more.”
The wind was slashing at him now. Will’s blood was a violent storm, pelting him like arrows. It smeared his vision blurry red. His legs trembled as they gripped Will’s chest.
He had to end this. Whatever this was. It felt like death.
He raised a hand to pull down lightning, to fire a thousand thunderbolts into Will’s skull. But the skies did not respond. The clouds stayed silent, as inconstant as a lover.
His power. Where was his power?
“What are you doing?” he screamed at Will. He didn’t understand. He was god, but he didn’t understand. Will was dying beneath him, and somehow Will was killing him by doing it.
“No!” he screamed with the last of the strength in his chest. He wouldn’t allow this. He wouldn’t let Will do this. He denied it. He denied Will. He denied him his life.
He seized Will’s neck again. Everything he had he poured into that grip. Will’s eyes bulged wildly. His blood-wet tongue lashed the air. And as each moment passed, Barph felt the strength flowing out of him. But if he could just hold on … just hold on … Will was so close to death …
And then, with a final spasm, the end came.
78
The Illusion of Victory
Cois stared.
Cois didn’t understand. Zhe didn’t think anybody understood.
Two figures had fallen from the heavens. Two figures locked in battle. Will and Barph.
They had crashed into each other in the air. One astride the other. They had screamed out their hate.
And …
And zhe had seen Will sit astride Barph’s chest. Zhe had seen him throttle half the life out of Barph. Zhe had seen him beat Barph’s face to a bloody pulp.
It had been impossible, but zhe had seen it.
At first she hadn’t believed it. Zhe couldn’t have. Nobody could. Barph had survived the dragon attack outside Essoa, after all. He had survived that storm. But then, slowly at first, with growing conviction, zhe had started to believe that Will would win. All around hir, people had started to believe it.
Barph had lain limp in Will’s arms. Will had placed his fingers around Barph’s throat. He had squeezed.
And then Barph’s body gave a final spasm.
And …
And …
Will had won.
79
The Last Temptation of Willett Fallows
Will felt the life go out of him.
Barph’s clawing fingers had crushed his windpipe utterly. His heart was spasming and stuttering in his chest. His limbs were anchors of agony tied to his torso, ripping him apart. Pain had replaced all the oxygen in his lungs. His blood was fire in his veins, scorching him from the inside out.
It was too much to bear. It was driving him out his mind.
And then, very suddenly, it stopped.
All his pain and fear and doubt. All of it stopped.
And then, a moment later, he stopped.
No more thought.
No more consciousness.
Oblivion.
How long did it last? He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. There was nothi
ng of him left to know.
A sudden blast of white.
A flare of sound.
It all came rushing back. All of it. Everything. Will came back. He emerged out of oblivion. He tore out of the Void.
Willett Fallows. Remade. Re-created.
Resurrected.
And gods … gods … it had worked. It had actually fucking worked.
It had worked.
It was a stupid plan. It was a plan that would get him killed.
Except no one else would see it that way.
Will had leapt from the heavens. He had grown to a size that everyone on Avarra below could see. He had come to the end of his divine magic. And then Barph had come hurtling after him.
And it had worked.
Because Will had one other scrap of magic to his name. One piece that did not come from the Deep Ones. One piece that came from another source.
He still had illusion.
And so he had performed one last trick.
He had swapped their appearances. He had made himself look like Barph. He had made Barph look like him.
That was all.
And that was all it had needed. Because when Barph beat seven shades of shit out of him, all anyone on Avarra below had seen was him beating the shit out of Barph. And when Barph had throttled him, all anyone on Avarra below had seen was him throttling Barph. And when Barph had killed him, all anyone on Avarra below had seen was him killing Barph.
And nobody believed in a god that died.
And so they believed for just a moment—for just long enough—that Barph was dead. And grasping for something to hold on to in the world, they believed in Will. And with all the belief in Avarra behind it, that fact became the truth.
Will had lost. And in doing so he had won.
And the people below, the very people he had fought for, had died for, they brought him back. They resurrected him. They were his miracle.
A sudden blast of white.
A flare of sound.
And then power. Power that eclipsed Will. Power that burned through his nerves and set his blood aflame. Power that burst through him and undid his seams. Power that crackled in his mind.