None of it mattered. Trennus reached down, touched the ley-line for the power he needed to shatter the stone, and stopped, horrified. The mountain itself was waking up. It had slept for hundreds of years, as the glaciers all along its calderas attested. But in reaction to all the heavy magics being tossed around on its surface . . . it was coming alive. If he pulled on the ley-line directly, it would erupt. And it wouldn’t be a gentle, slow thing, like a shield volcano in Hawai’i. It would be cataclysmic. No, Trennus thought, frantically. No, no, no, no . . . Lassair! Don’t go! Don’t surrender!
Body-senses were shutting down. Lassair was close to being trapped in a husk of dead and rotting meat. She could escape to the Veil if she left the body behind. She might be able to shatter the prison around her if she turned it to magma, and she tried to do precisely that. Fire couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t touch her. She heated the rock around her, dimly seeing the glow with spirit-eyes, but mortal eyes were failing . . . . Trennus. Flamesower. He has gods inside him. Like a god-born. When he kills this body . . . I think he might be able to kill me. And I can’t fight it.
No. I won’t let this happen. I won’t. Trennus was watching his life end, or at least, the only parts of it that mattered to him. He drew his silver-edged steel knife, dimly aware that Sigrun had peeled herself off the floor and was going back after Supay. That Cocohuay was kneeling by her goddess’ side, healing the shattered avatar, pouring her power into Mamaquilla’s body. That Inti and Supay were still fighting, that Kanmi was throwing everything he had at the emperor, and that Adam was firing, uselessly, alternating between Cusi and Supay. No. You don’t get her, you bastard. Lassair! Take the rest of me. I give myself to you. Take the gift, flame-heart. Use it.
No . . . the thought from Lassair was distant, and Trennus ignored it, and the wash of anguish that poured out of Saraid now, almost inchoate. Set his knife just under the xiphoid process, the fragile tip of the sternum, and setting his teeth, made sure of his aim . . . and then jerked his arms back before he lost his nerve.
Blood bound. It also freed. Nothing from nothing. From sacrifice, glory.
It hurt. Dear gods, it hurt, which was why he’d wanted to make sure of his aim. He didn’t think he’d have the strength to try again if he missed the first time. He could feel his heart spasming on the blade. Cutting itself on the edges, flailing itself apart. But as his life’s blood poured out, Trennus wound his Name into the blood, the Name Lassair had given him to know. Poured himself out, along the cord of soul that stretched between them. Felt his awareness compress to a thin, two-dimensional line. Sailing into warmth, into fire, held tight for a moment, and then . . . . elsewhere.
. . . his mind screamed in primal terror and confusion. Where he was, his senses distorted. He couldn’t understand them. He smelled purple fire raining down on what might have been his skin, if he’d had skin. He could hear perfume and clouds and sulfur, a ringing sound, a chime, and a trumpet’s blat, respectively. His eyes saw nothingness, but his spirit saw shapes, colors, but the shapes were all without dimension. His mind gibbered back from what made no sense, not in human terms, for this was a space where humanity had no place. The human mind had not evolved to comprehend it.
He saw wonders, and he saw terrors. As his awareness became clearer, Flamesower saw a red deer being stalked by a jade jaguar, through a forest made of crystal. The jaguar leaped and killed the doe, but no sooner had it torn the throat out, than the deer’s body vanished, and the beast was off and leaping through the woods, tail flicking behind it. No light, but light everywhere. The forest vanished, and a woman-shaped creature with a dozen arms walked through a black void, holding open a gaping hole cut into her stomach, playing with the entrails within. Where she walked, the blood splattered, and stars—huge, flaming balls of gas and dust—appeared, swelled into giants, and then went nova, only to return to their young, golden, life-giving state again before the nova had finished. Effect without cause. Effect preceding cause. The black void vanished, and a spider-web filled Flamesower’s mind. A huge spider, with furry-looking legs, crawled towards him, eight eyes gleaming as it studied him, where he was trapped, mandibles twitching. You do not belong here. You have a Name, but you are not of this place.
Yes. I have a Name.
Will you give it to me? The mandibles twitched in interest.
It is not mine to give, he hedged. I have given it to another.
Then you do not really have a Name, do you? A Name entirely given, is not your own anymore. You need another one. Of course, you have one. You just do not remember/know it properly. The spider studied him again. You are weak. You are hunted, and you are eaten. You rise again, though. Everyone does. The Game goes on. The Dance continues. You are/will be stronger? The words weren’t quite that. They didn’t have tense. They combined present and future as the same concept.
I . . . don’t know. Where am I? The Veil?
You are where you are. You are who you are. Strange questions. But yet, you say you have a Name. Though you have surrendered it. That makes you a cousin. You are neither Nameless, nor UnNamed.
Nameless? UnNamed? Flamesower felt dim stirrings of awareness. He remembered these things. At least, somewhat. What are these things?
This, the spider told him amiably, is the only world that matters. This is home. There are other places. There is a cold place, a place of death, where everything ends, and when it ends, it ends forever.
I . . . know this place. I come from there, I think.
Oh, how horrible. The spider shuddered, and the whole web shook with him. You’re better off here, I assure you. You are/will be stronger. Of course, there are those who think the taste of endings is sweet. They like that which is different. The taste of danger. They are seeking/will seek you.
I don’t wish to be sought.
Then you are hiding/should hide. Hard, though, with that which you carry. The spider reached out a massive foreleg and touched something at Flamesower’s heart. You carry your line with you, as I do. Are you spinning your web here?
Flamesower looked down. Hard to see himself. His form was . . . spindly. Amorphous, compared to the spider’s clear, hard, perfect form. Blobs and roils of energy, spreading out, carried by a chiming breeze, all stemming from his . . . heart. Yes. He had one. A glowing core of red-and-white fire . . . and from that heart, a long, thin filament of brown-and-green light, stretching off, endlessly, into the distance. Fire sheathed it, and for a moment, he knew it . . . and then recognition faded.
No. I do not know how to spin webs. Curiosity. You are speaking of Nameless and UnNamed?
A chitter. Nameless come from the cold place. We call it the Aether, but if those who dwell there have no Names, it seems likely that they have no Name for their home. We cannot go there, cousin. Those from that place are uninterested in us and our doings. They are Order. They are the Law. They are Fate. We sense them, dimly, through the barrier, shadows and lights against a window. The barrier between there and here is stronger than that which divides us from the place of endings. Not that I wish to go there, either. Another shudder. Those who try to enter the Aether, END. Whether it is the place that devours them, or the creatures there, I do not know. But they end without beginning.
And the UnNamed?
The UnNamed go there, from your place of endings, cousin. When they have had their Names stolen from them. They try to stay here, but we do not let them. They try to tear our Names from us, in fear. And then they go. They become one with the Aether.
Flamesower felt coldness in his glowing heart. Something about the UnNamed. Do the UnNamed ever come back? Do the Nameless ever go to the place of endings?
If they do, they do not come through our home. We stay out of their home. They stay out of ours. But your home interests many. The spider tapped again on the long strand that connected Flamesower to . . . something. You are removing/leaving that behind? It is making you visible/trackable.
No . . . it’s . . . important . . . . Flamesower paused. Thank
you, cousin. It is good to meet you and not be your prey today.
I have no taste for endings. Go in safety/You are safe.
Flamesower pulled on the cord with his will, and began to speed along it. It seemed to allow him to move much more quickly, though he didn’t know where it went. There was no up or down or any other directionality. There was just . . . everywhere. But the only familiar thing was the cord, so he followed it, through crowds and thickets and storms and stars and voids. For years, or centuries, or heartbeats. The words lost meaning.
___________________
Less than a second had passed. Lassair felt the remaining portion of Trennus’ life-essence course into her along their soul-bond, and wailed No! But with it, with the blood on the ground, the willing sacrifice of a good man, came power, infusing her. She didn’t want it, didn’t want to accept it, but not to take it would be to waste everything that Trennus was to her. But their bond was as much about giving as it was about taking, and she had, in spirit-mind, all the time in the world to understand that, to comprehend what it meant, and what she could do with it. So as his life-energy came to her, Lassair reached out and tucked part of herself into his frail and dying form, where it could grow and kindle into flame, healing the body that his spirit had vacated. At the same time, the spirit tenderly extricated him from her, refusing to consume him, subsume him. She took the energy of the love—and she was dizzyingly aware that the love was a greater power than the blood or the worship ever could have been—and tucked him, still attached to her, into the Veil, as her sister Latirian had tried to do with many mortals, so long ago. He’s strong. Stronger than any of them. And he’s bound to me. He shares my awareness. He’ll be safe.
Spirit-mind, infused with power, examined the dying body in the earthen egg, and reached out. Found the energies that were compressing the earth, and with all the power of Tlaloc’s legacy and Trennus’ sacrifice, shattered them. The egg cracked. The earth above that cyst glowed, red-hot, becoming a pool of magma. Deep in the pool, Lassair coughed once, as she flushed the mud out of the body’s lungs. Took a deep breath, feeling the air, relishing it, as she made spirit-and-body one for the moment. Infused her fire all through the flesh, and stepped up out of the red-hot pool of liquid rock, her phoenix wings streaming behind her, fire and flesh as one, reborn.
She paused there for a moment, feeling Trennus’ faint tug on the end of a very long cord between them, and then leaped directly for the Sapa Inca, with a cry like a hunting bird, feral and keen. Her wings scraped the ceiling as she landed on him, and her hands were full of flame as she tore at the rock-like skin under his royal raiment. No more! Lassair told Sayri Cusi, and the insistent fragments of gods encysted within him. No more!
___________________
Adam had staggered back as the creature of molten rock had been torn apart. Saw Lassair sucked down into the floor, and, not knowing what else to do, had reloaded, and started firing at Supay and the Sapa Inca, his bullets impacting uselessly. At least I might distract them. I can’t do what I did to Tlaloc. If I bring any part of this ceiling down, it comes down on all of us. His mind churned. As Minori and Kanmi both engaged Sayri Cusi with all their considerable magic—with little more effect, sadly, than his bullets—and as Sigrun once more threw herself at Supay, Adam glanced around, looking for options. Cocohuay had the head of her goddess cradled in her lap, and was trying to staunch the bleeding there. “I can’t heal the damage. The wound is too great, and it’s a wound to more than just the body.”
I . . . know . . . leave me. It is my time. Supay has become too powerful.
“No. Come into me,” Cocohuay told Mamaquilla, tears running down her weathered cheeks. “It’s not much of a body. But it’s healthy. It’s served me well for two hundred years. I give it to you. Freely. Take me.”
Adam’s eyes widened, and he turned to shoot a look over his shoulder at Tren, wanting to tell his friend, That’s dedication. That’s love. That’s sacrifice . . . but before he could form a word, he realized that Trennus was on the floor, a knife buried deep in his heart, his eyes fixed on where Lassair had been. No, Adam thought, dumbly. No, no, there had to have been another way, Trennus, you fool, you idiot . . . he ran to his friend’s body, holstering his gun, and ripped the knife out, throwing it aside. Put two fingers, idiotically, to the side of Trennus’ throat. He knew he wouldn’t find a heartbeat. There wasn’t a heart left to beat.
Against all expectations, he felt . . . something. Not a reverberation. Not a heartbeat. Warmth, rising and falling, growing almost searing hot, and then cooling again. Adam pulled his hand away, looking down at the body, and hadn’t the slightest idea of what to do. CPR? Should I pump his chest? Should I give rescue breaths? What in god’s name do I do?
He looked up, feeling a black wave of despair crash over him. He was useless in this fight. He couldn’t help Lassair, he couldn’t help Sigrun. He couldn’t even help Trennus. He lifted his friend’s limp hand, sticky with blood, and looked down at him, helplessly, and then assessed the battlefield again. Sigrun was still in the thick of the fight, blood staining her clothes, clotting her hair together in places, rune-marks ablaze as she warily moved in, trying to jab her spear into Supay’s side as he lifted his club again and drove it down at Inti. The sun-god’s left arm already hung uselessly at his side, though Adam wasn’t sure if that meant that bones had been broken, or if the avatar’s injury correlated to spiritual damage. Now Inti threw himself out of the way of the devastating strike, aimed for his head. Supay darted in, redirecting the failed swing, and slammed the club into the god’s right ribs. Adam could hear the crunch of bone, and winced, knowing that Inti wore the body of one of his god-born, a living, breathing, mostly mortal man. Someone just like Sigrun.
This isn’t right, Adam thought, as Inti staggered back, and set Tren’s limp hand down on the ground once more. He unholstered his gun, this time with his hand coated in Tren’s blood, and fired once more on Supay, as the death-god turned on Sig yet again. The valkyrie managed to block a hasty shot with the club with the haft of her spear, turning to let the energy dissipate past her, so that the impact wouldn’t splinter her spear, and Adam caught the look on his wife’s face. It was the expression that she always wore when she told him, I was born to fight lost battles.
Flickers of awareness. Lassair burst out of the earth, her body made of fire, and with peacock-feather wings made of flame easily fifteen feet in length, unfurling from her shoulders. She screamed and leaped for the Sapa Inca, knocking the man to the ground, her fingers clawing at his face and body. Feral. Primal. Nature, red in tooth and claw.
Just past Sigrun and Supay, their faces lit dimly by Inti’s dying light, and Sigrun’s rune-born glow, Cocohuay pressed her lips to Mamaquilla’s ravaged forehead, and a mist began to rise from the goddess’ body. Gleaming, pearlescent fog lifted, and breathed itself into the woman’s form. The transformation was not gentle. Cocohuay screamed in pain as her body began to ripple and distort. Her spine contorted as her body began to grow, rapidly, and scales unfurled across her skin. Before the transformation was even complete, Mamaquilla lunged back into the fight, again sheeting lines of silvery light across Supay’s body. She seemed stronger now, somehow, more agile, as the broken and bleeding body she’d left behind slumped to the ground, as limp as Trennus. Adam edged forward, leaning against one of the pillars for cover, and swung around. Aimed at Supay, but couldn’t get a clear shot. Sigrun was moving too damned fast, here, there, her spear flicking. Mamaquilla, in Cocohuay’s body, was slashing at Supay with her lines of light. All to no avail. Adam aimed, hesitated, began to pull the trigger . . . .
Wait. Inti had regained his feet and staggered out of the combat area, barely dodging an errant spear-strike from Sigrun. Adam’s finger released, and time seemed to slow, all around him, as Inti approached. Sigrun’s lightning-fast dodges and strikes became dream-like. The pulses that made up each line of Mamaquilla’s moon-born light became evident. Do not waste your bullets, human
. Inti collapsed at Adam’s feet. Left arm shattered. Right arm holding ribs that had been crushed. Golden, fiery blood dripping from mouth and nose. Not when there is a better target.
“What . . . what do you mean?” Adam asked, staring around him. Lassair’s mouth was bloody; he thought she’d bitten Sayri Cusi, like a falcon savaging its prey, but the man was fighting back. Kanmi had pulled Minori back against the far wall, and was shielding both of them now.
Me.
Adam’s mouth dropped open. “What? I can’t—you’re—”
I am at fault. Inti’s voice was weary. I failed to see the trap for what it was. I failed to undo its workings for years. I am bound to it, and remain bound in it, for all that I am free of the circle. It still leeches life and energy from me to bind my brethren. I could drop it, all at once, and perhaps heal myself. Perhaps defeat Supay. But thousands would die in the cities of this land. Supay is counting on it. I can see it in him. Their deaths, his sacrifice. A rush of power with which to claim his ascendancy. Inti’s voice was bleak. Sacrifice is power. Blood is power. Can I see your friend give his life for his beloved, can I see Cocohuay give herself to my beloved sister-queen, and dare to do less than what a mortal might?
Adam’s mind reeled. “If you die . . . won’t all the power backlash anyway? Won’t it flood the whole machine, and destroy the towers, make the ground shake?” He watched as Sigrun’s spear began a slow downward arc.
The Valkyrie (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 1) Page 117