by Melvin, Jim
“He bears three great weapons. The chain that enslaves him, the trident in his right hand, and the ring on his left.”
“I see no ring.”
“Nevertheless, it is there—and it is as powerful as the trident.”
“Do these weapons make him invincible?”
This time, it was Utu’s turn to grimace. “Yes. But not for the obvious reasons.”
“Please explain—in plain language,” Kusala said. “Solving riddles is not my forte.”
“Snow giants can sense the presence of magic much as someone like you can feel heat. You could stand near one of these torches with little discomfort. But how close could you stand to a bonfire? Or worse yet, a wildfire? And yet, that does not begin to describe the extent of his power. The real question is, how close could you stand to the sun?”
“Mala’s magic is that strong?”
“It’s not Mala’s magic I fear. Though Invictus waits and watches from the shadows, it is his strength that flows through my brother’s sinews. The weapons will serve only as conduits—but effective ones. Even before Yama-Deva was converted, he was greater than me. But I had hoped my obsession would give me an edge. I could strike with a rage so sudden, my brother would be whelmed. Now I see that my hopes were false.”
“Are you saying we have no chance? If that’s the case, we might as well throw down our arms and raise the doors.”
“Hopelessness and surrender are not always the same,” Utu said. “Mala is beyond me . . . I do not have the strength to slay him. But I shall make the attempt, nonetheless.”
Kusala released an uneven sigh. “Does Mala know you’re here? Can he sense your magic as you sense his?”
Utu permitted himself a brief smile. “That is an excellent question. There is hope for you yet, Kusala.”
A voice from the shadows startled them.
“Are you ever going to invite me into this conversation? Or must the king of Nissaya remain in the dark?”
Neither the chieftain nor the snow giant had sensed Henepola’s approach. The king seemed relaxed, almost to the point of casualness. He wore black robes and a crown of black diamonds, but his white hair shone beneath the crescent moon, and his staff of Maōi shimmered.
“You have not yet donned your armor, sire,” Kusala said.
“It won’t be needed until morning,” Henepola said. “And Mala will want to have a little talk before he attacks. But don’t deflect my question, chieftain. What are the two of you discussing so earnestly?”
Kusala started to answer, but Utu interrupted. “I have informed the chieftain that I cannot defeat Mala.”
“I could have told him myself and saved you the trouble,” Henepola said. “You should be back in Okkanti, delighting in the snowflakes.”
Utu snarled and rose to his full height, but the king waved his hand and laughed. “Do not take offense! My newfound sense of humor can be jarring. It’s just that I foresaw the hopelessness of resistance long before you. But I believe I overheard you saying to Kusala that, despite your despair, you are not inclined to surrender.”
“It appears you heard a good deal of our conversation,” Kusala said. “Have you perfected the art of invisibility?”
“Only demons, ghosts, and Tugars are capable of such feats,” the king said with a wink. “But I am able to blend into my surroundings almost as well as a Kantaara Yodha.”
Kusala snorted. “Even better, it seems.”
“I will not surrender,” Utu said, responding to Henepola’s earlier statement. “Do you have a point to make?”
“No . . . but I do have something to show you.”
Kusala rolled his eyes. “The last time you said those words to me, it turned out to be quite unpleasant.”
In response, Henepola’s face seemed to catch fire. “This also will not be pleasant. Nonetheless, it is worthy of the snow giant’s consideration. Will the two of you come with me into the city? It’s a long walk, but I doubt any of us will be getting much sleep tonight. If nothing else, it will help pass the time until morning.”
THE UNUSUAL TRIO started down one of the numerous stone stairwells that flanked the inward face of Balak. Tugars started to follow, but Kusala waved them off. Though the stairs were deep, the snow giant took them four at a time and reached the base of the bulwark long before the king and Kusala. Waiting for them at the bottom, as if on cue, were Madiraa and Indajaala, both of whom wore no armor.
“So, you’re part of this conspiracy, as well?” Kusala said to the princess and conjurer.
Neither found this amusing.
“What you’re about to be shown is no laughing matter,” Madiraa whispered. “Except for my father and Indajaala, only a select few have seen it.”
“To be honest, I have never seen it,” Indajaala said to the princess. “You and the king have spoken of it many times, and I have stood outside the door, but it has never graced my eyes.”
“The Torgon saw it . . . once,” Madiraa said to Kusala. “And rest assured he was suitably impressed.”
“As are all,” the king agreed.
“For Anna’s sake, what are you talking about?” Kusala said.
“You’ll see,” Henepola said.
“I must admit that even I’m intrigued,” Utu said.
“That’s good to hear,” the king said. “Because the thing I wish to show you is intended for you.”
They crossed the deadly moat on the main drawbridge. Kusala looked over the side at the black water, which hid thousands of razor-sharp spikes. Like the door of Balak, the door of Ott also was closed. The only way to surmount Ott was via rope ladders, hundreds of which were draped over the exterior of the bulwark. The wall was so tall, smooth, and sheer, even Utu had to use one of the ladders to ascend it. The ropes were strong enough to hold fifty men at once, but the snow giant’s feet were so thick he had difficulty squeezing them between the rungs.
The door of Hakam remained open, making it easier to deliver food and weapons to the lesser bulwarks. This door also required half a day to shut, but its twenty portcullises could be lowered far more quickly. Besides, the thought of Balak and Ott being breached was inconceivable.
Henepola led them into the interior of the fortress. To Kusala’s surprise, the king veered away from the main keep. The torchlit streets swarmed with frantic civilians. The king’s guard led the way, clearing a path through the startled throngs. They hurried down a side street past a courtyard crammed to capacity with civilian refugees. Beyond the courtyard was a string of eateries that now were used solely to prepare food for the frightened inhabitants.
The side street narrowed considerably before dead-ending into an empty pavilion without doors, windows, or torchlight. It was so dark Henepola was forced to use his Maōi staff to light the way, leading them to a black wall as smooth as a pane of glass.
Though the king seemed to know exactly where he was going, Kusala found himself becoming increasingly agitated. A chieftain’s place was on the first bulwark, not wandering around the backstreets of the city on some poorly defined mission. As if reading the Asēkha’s thoughts, the king spoke.
“Patience, my friend. It won’t be long now.”
“What won’t be long?”
“Behold!”
Henepola tapped his staff against the wall. Sputters of milky energy sprang from the head of the staff and splashed against the black stone. In response, the outline of a portal magically appeared. The king nudged the hidden door open, revealing crude stairs that descended steeply into even deeper darkness.
“I don’t think Utu can fit in there,” Kusala said.
“Snow giants are more pliable than you think,” Utu said.
“After fifty steps, it opens into a larger chamber,” Madiraa said. “As long as none of us fear tight quarters, we’ll be all right.”
The guards were ordered to remain outside. Then Henepola led the way. Utu, Kusala, and Madiraa followed, with Indajaala taking up the rear. The snow giant was forced to lower his
head and twist his torso sideways, but he didn’t appear discomforted. As the princess had foretold, fifty steps led to a chamber large enough to contain a score of men, though Utu still had to crouch to avoid bumping his skull on the stone ceiling.
At the far end of the chamber was another door, but this one was plainly visible, its seams aglow. Henepola walked over to it and then paused, turning to face his companions.
“There are mysteries in the bowels of Nissaya,” the king said solemnly. “Creatures of unknown origin still reside in the deepest depths, along with untapped reservoirs of jewels and gemstones. Among all these treasures, Maōi is the most precious. But what few realize is that most of the Maōi we uncover is rarely pure. Black granite, obsidian, and a variety of crystals course within its veins. The chandeliers that illuminate the banquet room of Nagara contain only traces of Maōi. My staff, on the other hand, is made of the purest Maōi known to our people. Except . . .”
“Except . . .” Utu interrupted, “for what lies behind that door.”
“You can sense it?” said Henepola, his voice eager.
“Can he sense it?” Kusala said irritably. “Even I can sense it. It’s as if there’s a furnace ablaze in the room beyond.”
The king’s eyes glowed as intensely as his staff. “Yes, chieftain. And if you’ll come closer and place your hands against the wall, you’ll find that the stone is quite warm, even though it is five cubits thick.”
“Show them, Father,” Madiraa said. “There is no need for further delay.”
“Very well,” Henepola said, approaching the door. The nearer the king came to it, the more apprehensive Kusala became. Like the crystal basin in the royal chambers of Nagara, whatever it was behind the door emitted energy that Kusala found threatening.
The door had no visible latch or handle, but when Henepola pressed the head of his staff against the black stone, the portal swung soundlessly inward. Instantly, a blaring white light sprang from the inner chamber, followed by a gust of stale air.
Kusala gasped and shielded his eyes, as did all but Utu, who stood still as stone, unblinking. After a time, the intensity of the glare became tolerable for the others, and they followed the king into the room, Kusala last of all and the most reluctant.
In the middle of the smaller chamber was a crude stone table. Upon its square top rested a circular plate of solid diamond perhaps a span in diameter. On the plate lay a huge black ring, roughly hewn, from which all the light and heat emanated.
“It is very old,” Henepola said in a respectful tone.
“How old?” Kusala said. “And more importantly, what is it?”
“According to the texts, the keepers of Nissaya discovered it more than ten millennia ago. Yet, ten millennia is just the tiniest fraction of its existence. As for what it is, that depends on your perspective. You would believe it to be a circular object nature had wrought. I believe it to be the very ring of God, born during The Creation and placed in the bowels of Nissaya for his disciples to discover. Either way, there is one thing about it that none of us can deny . . . it is pure Maōi, uncorrupted by any other substance. That is why it is kept on the diamond plate. It would melt through ordinary stone, and over time, even black granite. Only the diamond, which itself is pure, can abide it.
“Our historians believe that the ring was first discovered encased in a ball of diamond the size of Yama-Utu’s fist. It has been kept in this room ever since and warded only by kings, queens, and trusted advisors.”
“Why the secrecy?” Kusala said. “I understand that it’s valuable, but considering the wealth of Nissaya, that is not so unusual.”
“Do you remember the effect the crystal basin had on you?” Henepola said. “You held it just a short time, chieftain, and still you desired it. Yet that basin contained only a few grains of pure Maōi.”
“So you’re saying that this ring would have a similar effect on me?”
“Similar? Not necessarily, for the sorcery of Invictus had tainted the basin,” Madiraa said. “But its effect would be significant. This is just the third time Father has allowed me to see it, and yet it has weighed on my mind since I first laid eyes on it.”
“I have seen it a dozen times in my lifetime,” Henepola said. “My love for it has become so great, I was able to resist revealing its existence to the sorcerer even while under his sway.”
“Have you ever touched it?” said Kusala, who was finding it increasingly difficult to look away from the ring.
“I am not physically able to touch it,” the king said. “It would burn through my flesh and incinerate my bones. Only the great among the great could manage such a feat. But even if I could touch it, I would not—for anyone who could bear it would become its slave.”
“Then why are we here?” Kusala shouted. “This is just one more distraction. We should be on Balak, preparing for battle. Or if not there, then at least attempting to get some rest. Instead, we’re wasting our time in the presence of this evil thing.”
“Did I say it was evil?” Henepola said. “I did not use that word. I said it was pure. Purity is the enslaver.”
Kusala continued to argue. Anger seemed to be the only thing that distracted his mind from the ring.
Then Utu spoke, quieting them all. “I know why we are here,” the snow giant proclaimed. And then he said to the king: “Leave me.”
“Are you certain?” Henepola said. “Do you truly understand?”
“I do . . .”
“Understand what?” Kusala said. “Please do me the favor of explaining all this to the lone idiot in the room.”
Henepola reached up and placed both his hands on Kusala’s muscular shoulders.
“I brought the snow giant here to give him a choice. I did not do so before because I believed he would refuse. But now that Utu has seen, with his own eyes, the power that Mala wields through Invictus, he recognizes what must be done.”
“Leave me,” the snow giant repeated.
When Kusala looked into Utu’s eyes, it became apparent that further protest would be futile.
5
YAMA-UTU WITNESSED their departure from the inner chamber. Kusala seemed the most hesitant, as if determined to rescue the snow giant from a terrible fate.
“Did I say it was evil?” Henepola had said to the chieftain. “I did not use that word. I said it was pure. Purity is the enslaver.”
Utu walked over to the stone table. Earlier that evening, he had told Kusala how he was able to sense the presence of magic like an ordinary person feels heat. That was not entirely accurate, but it was close enough. When Utu stared down at the ring, the magic that it emitted seared his face. Yet it also offered hope. To match the strength of his ruined brother, Yama-Utu would need a weapon that rivaled those Mala wielded.
But this ring would exact a terrible price.
Once on his finger, it would meld with his flesh and mind.
Once on his finger . . . he could not turn back.
Still, was that such a great loss?
There had been no turning back since the day he had left Okkanti.
Utu stared at the ring for what seemed like a very long time. How lovely it was. How perfect. He stroked it with the tip of his right index finger, then gasped and pulled away. It burned. Doubt entered his mind. If it hurt so much just to touch it, could he bear the pain of wearing it?
Could he bear the pain of not wearing it?
“I said it was pure.”
As pure as clarity.
As emptiness.
As an end to all things. And a beginning.
The ring was large, even by the snow giant’s standards. Utu admired its rippled surface and silken glow. He touched it again—and this time held the tip of his finger there a little longer.
The snow giant didn’t realize he was howling until he heard the echoes of his own cries within the chamber. A small patch of brutally charred flesh flared with pain long after he removed his fingertip. He started toward the door, prepared to tell Hene
pola and the others that putting on the ring was an impossible task, even for him. But then he stopped and returned to the table. When it came to Yama-Deva, Utu’s love and loyalty knew no bounds. His efforts to end his brother’s misery should be the same. If he gave up now, he might as well flee the fortress and return to Okkanti.
Utu slid the tip of the middle finger of his right hand into the ring. The agony erupted again, focused in that specific area. This time, Utu didn’t withdraw. Instead, he grasped the ring with his left hand and shoved it past the middle knuckle to the base of the finger. Instantly the ring glowed ferociously, searing his flesh all the way to the bone. It was tenfold the worst pain he had ever experienced. He clutched the Maōi with his right hand and tried to tear it off. It clung to his finger as if permanently adhered.
Utu screamed. Sobbed. Begged. Whimpered. He collapsed to his knees and banged his thick forehead on the stone floor. He stood, picked up the diamond plate, and crashed it down on the Maōi like the head of an axe. In the resultant collision, only the diamond was damaged, cleaving in two.
The pain intensified. Surely the ring would burn through the bone and amputate his finger. Utu would have welcomed this with tears of euphoria, but it did not occur. His finger remained intact, as did the torment.
Somewhere during this hideous cacophony, the snow giant swooned. When he opened his eyes, he was uncertain how long he had been unconscious. It could have been a moment or a day. Since he remained alone in the chamber, he guessed that it must have been just a short time.
Meanwhile, the pain remained as intense as ever, but his perception of it had changed. He began to see it as just another sensation, huge beyond comprehension but without the power to cause him true harm. The purity of the Maōi was at work. In some ways, he already had begun to return to his former self, unconcerned with the pettiness of violence and vengeance.