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Kanmi had had about five seconds of warning as he saw ben Maor, with blinding speed, simply flicker behind Inti. Saw the resolute, noble, yet terrified expression on the god’s face. Minori blurted out, “He’s ending himself! He’s sacrificing himself!” and Kanmi had reached down for every reserve of power he had. Pulled it out of batteries, out of his nervous system, the air and rock around them, and rapidly pulled a barrier up in front of them, nearly tripping over his syllables in his haste. And at the same time, he could hear and feel Minori doing the same thing, their power weaving into and around and through each other’s, building the wall thicker, pulling particles of stone and dirt and anything else into it, thickening the air and earth into a protective wall in front of them. Kanmi reached out, pulled Minori into his arms, and turned his back on the blaze as the god’s self-made pyre went up. His body probably wouldn’t stop any serious radiation, but any fire, any heat, any projectiles that weren’t stopped by their barrier, would have to go through him first, before reaching Minori. Their barrier would stop UV. Some radiation. X-rays, certainly, but probably not gamma. Then again . . . the gods only knew if a dying god gave off gamma radiation. Tlaloc hadn’t, but Tlaloc hadn’t been a sun-god. Recently, anyway. Depending on how one read Nahautl mythology.
Kanmi, unlike Adam, could feel the raw energy being expelled into the air, into the earth, into the ley-lines, into the magma lurking below the surface. He’d run estimates of Tlaloc’s expended energies, that had set the explosive force as similar to that of four medium-sized power plants running at normal capacity, being released all at once. This was far greater. This felt like the power of a thousand tons of chemical explosive, like dynamite. He could feel it being grounded by the ley-lines, but also by bodies in the room itself, and thanked his stars that there was someplace for the power to go . . . and hoped, deeply and sincerely, that it wasn’t being consumed by Supay or Sayri Cusi. And because that energy was being passed along ley-lines, which resonated with one another over vast distances, without time delay . . . Kanmi could feel the energy that had been dispersing coming back, like a tidal wave. Only it was stronger now, because that tide had picked up the flotsam and jetsam of the rest of the system, and was bringing it all back to the beginning. Completing a circuit.
Kanmi felt Minori’s arms tighten around his waist, and knew she was bracing for the impact, too. “Don’t try to absorb it!” he shouted over the sound of combat. “It’ll burn you out!” He could feel her nod in response, and they both frantically wove more and more of themselves into their shields, trying to deflect as much of the energy as possible.
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Sigrun had looked away as Adam lowered Inti to the floor, but was still blinded for a moment. She could hear Mamaquilla’s silent keening as energies pulsed and coursed through the room. Dizzying. She hadn’t been as aware of this when Tlaloc had died; she’d been unconscious at the time. This time, she could feel everything, and her senses became oddly heightened.
Energy. Movement of bodies around her. The destruction of the ushnu overhead let fine drifts of dirt sheet softly down over hair and face. Open sky above. The struggle between Lassair and the Sapa Inca as they grappled on the ground. A barrier resonating around Kanmi and Minori. But at first she had no idea where Adam was. Or even if he’d survived the blast. Her heart wrenched, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. Supay was still in play. So was the Sapa Inca.
She opened her eyes to see Mamaquilla staggering to her husband’s body, pulling Inti into her arms. Dazzling light of a midnight sun overhead, piercing through the clouds that covered the sky. Inti’s last gift to his people. It surely wouldn’t last long. Adam—oh, gods, thank you, he’s alive!—pressed up against the wall behind Mamaquilla and Inti. Rumblings in the ground, underfoot, a surge that made her stagger for a moment.
All this in eyeblinks of time, and then she caught a glimpse of Supay charging Mamaquilla, fangs bared, and his club swinging back to attack the peaceful goddess of the moon and sea, as she clutched her husband’s body and wailed, silently, Inti, no, Inti, no, I cannot do this without you, I cannot, I cannot . . . .
No time. Sigrun had open sky and a death-god to deal with. At least she could distract him until Mamaquilla had had a chance to mourn her beloved, and regain her composure. Sigrun pulled at the sky above, and lighting came at her call, slamming down into Supay, the impact of the thunder itself a physical force. Supay stopped in his tracks. Turned, slowly, and faced the valkyrie, his black eyes vacant of all expression. As he paused, Sigrun gritted her teeth, and hit him with lightning again, the blue-white bolt hitting him, and the rock under him, as well.
Supay bared his teeth and laughed at her, a sound that tore at her mind. Pitiful child of the northern gods, is that the best you can do? Feel my power. And know that when you die, your blood and life will only serve to feed me. He lifted a hand, and Sigrun’s heart twisted inside of her chest. Clamped down, stuttering. The cardiac tissues burned, and for an instant, Sigrun’s vision wavered, and she thought she would pass out of existence, not on her feet, and not of a battle-wound, after all.
The rune-wrought light on her skin dimmed for a moment, and then flared more brightly, as the pain simply passed. Sigrun hissed, “Fikkest thu, cwealuwyrm, inanwyrm. Héodæg, thu forðferest!” Death-worm. Gut-worm. Today, you perish.
She managed to slash at Supay’s face once more as he charged in, swinging his heavy club once more, pivoting, light-footed, to the right, letting him move past and through where she’d just been, shifting her grip to bring the butt of the spear down at the backs of his knees. She hadn’t thought the strike hard enough, but all she needed to do was continue his forward motion, take advantage of what was already there, and then she brought lighting down on him again. Spun her spear in her hands, bringing the point back up, and slashed into Supay’s unprotected back on the upswing. Not a deep hit, but it didn’t need to be. Not every stroke needed to be a kill-shot. She just needed to wear him down. Keep him at bay until Mamaquilla recovered from her shock. Except . . . Mamaquilla was still prostrate with grief. Still on the ground, cradling Inti’s body.
Sigrun was distantly aware as the clouds opened up, and frozen rain and hail started to fall, a heavy, pounding downpour that meant that she needed to watch her footing. Supay spun back towards her, showing her the self-same strike that had been aimed at her ribs earlier in the fight. Time seemed to slow—pure adrenaline—as Sigrun evaluated the angles and the options in fractions of a second. Every time she’d been hit with the club so far, it had carried hurt beyond just flesh and bone. Each strike had felt as if it had sucked away part of her soul with it. Allowing it to hit her again seemed a . . . very bad idea.
This time, however, Sigrun had no ceiling over her head. She threw herself skywards, and the club, heavy, bulky thing that it was, wailed through the air under her feet this time, and Sigrun brought lightning down again, a triple fork of it, directed right at Supay himself. He staggered back, and looked up, taken off-guard, just for an instant, and Sigrun followed her lighting down. She was half a step ahead now, and considering her speed and agility, that was all she needed. Supay was slow by comparison, and the club was lethal, but Sigrun dodged a half a dozen wild swings, while returning her own. Supay was forced to try to catch her where she’d been a moment before, but she was simply no longer there.
She hadn’t been pushed this hard in combat since the Odinhall. This was the speed she couldn’t use in practice against Adam, Trennus, or Kanmi—it simply wasn’t fair to them. And Lassair had no interest in such things, so Sigrun never got to practice using her full range of abilities. To an outside observer, like Adam, who had his gun leveled at Supay, the two combatants were smears of motion. Sigrun’s spear blurred in her hands, and she constantly circled her opponent, looking for an advantage. Threw herself into the air, got clipped by the club for her pains, and then dove in to attack again. Lightning flashed, blinding him; thunder roared, st
aggering him. Every time Adam thought he had a shot, Sigrun was right back in his way again. “Sig!” Adam shouted, watching her step back, rocked by a heavy hit. “Sig, clear out of there! Let me take the shot!”
She barely heard the words. Her concentration was absolute, and this time, as she leaped into the air, she saw the perfect opening as she pulled down lightning, and followed the strike down once more. All the advantages of high ground and the reach of her spear, and the further advantage of Supay’s momentary shock at the lighting hit. Instead of her usual fast, lighting-like strikes, she allowed herself a hard, sweeping blow, directed at his neck, at the downwards angle.
For a moment, Sigrun actually thought she’d missed. She hovered there for a moment, staring at Supay, and the death-god stared back at her.
Supay’s head lifted, as if he were about to nod, mockingly. His neck arched. Gaped. Black blood began to pour out of the wound, and then his head simply fell back off his neck. But the body didn’t fall. It staggered, lifting its club once more, and Sigrun just stared at it for a moment. What, should I be surprised that a death-god acts like a ghul? she thought, and pulled her spear back. Slid it home, up under the sternum, and into the heart.
An electrical sensation coursed over her, and for an instant, Sigrun could have sworn she saw blackness pouring out of Supay’s body, rising as a mist, and something cold and silvery leaped out with it, aimed like a spear at her own heart. Sigrun jerked back, her own spear still caught in the body, and slapped a hand to her chest, looking for the surely mortal wound, and found . . . nothing. “You missed,” Sigrun told the god’s broken form, her voice a harsh croak. Whatever it was, it had surely passed through her, without harm. She didn’t feel any different at all.
Other than the fact that I just killed a god in single combat. Shouldn’t have been possible. Maybe all the ambient energies . . .Hel’s frozen heart, he was a death-god. What does that even mean? Her thoughts raced. Does that mean Trennus is going to live? Does that mean that the Sapa Inca can’t die right now? And on the heels of those thoughts, another: If I thought I was in trouble last time, when I was just present when a god died . . . .
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Adam stared at Supay’s body as it hit the floor. His eyes flicked up, and he called to Sigrun, “You all right?” There was an awful lot of blood on her.
“Fine! Asha—”
“On it.” Adam had been trying to keep his attention evenly divided, Sigrun dueling Supay on one side, and Lassair keeping the Sapa Inca down on the ground, on the other. The spirit’s mouth was red with blood, where she’d been apparently tearing at Sayri Cusi’s throat. The two of them were grappling back and forth now, and Adam felt another rumble from deep underground as he stepped forward, training his gun on Sayri Cusi’s back. I have no idea how powerful this ammunition is. It could go through him and kill Lassair. And then Tren will kill me. The train of thought halted in a surge of wrenching grief as Adam remembered that Trennus was dead. Come on, Lassair, hold him so I can shoot him without hitting you.
The pair on the ground reversed positions again, and Lassair wound up, once more, on top, the blaze of her fires almost too bright to look on. He had no idea how the emperor wasn’t screaming in pain. How the man wasn’t dead yet.
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His skin is as rock, and the god-fragments within him sustain him. Lassair didn’t have much energy with which to direct the thought at Steelsoul. She could feel Stormborn approaching, leveling her spear, looking for an opening. Could feel a darker, colder edge in her sister than had been there before. Stay your hand, sister! I will end this!
The one to whom so many were bound had worn fine clothing at the beginning of the day. It had, in the main, burned away at this point, leaving only the rock-like skin. Lassair wasn’t particularly strong or agile, but she’d been watching Trennus and Adam wrestle every day for five years now. That and her inner will had been enough, so far, to keep her ahead of the human, who seemed to be channeling strength up from the very stone. She had managed to get on top again, her legs wrapped around his thighs, her weight back at first, and then had slammed her forehead forwards, into his cheekbone, sinking her weight down. Grinding her head into the sensitive portions of his face, and just bearing down. The rock armor might shield the flesh beneath from impact, it might shield his flesh from her flames, other than where her talons and teeth had managed to pierce, but this position, with her face tucked away, protected her eyes, while she clawed at his with her left hand, and jammed the point of her right elbow into his shoulder. She was, in effect, letting gravity do the work, while increasing skin-contact. Trying to burn through the rock-hide, while the one with the screaming pieces of others trapped inside of him tried to send electricity through her body.
Lassair laughed, and dug her talons into an eye-socket, pulling the lid up and spearing in with the talon on her thumb. Skyfire will not harm me in this form. She heard him scream, and hooked her thumb back out, taking the eye with it. The eye cavity had been almost instantly cauterized by her strike. No blood. The one who held so many bound fought harder, trying to punch her, dislodge her, and Lassair half-closed her eyes. Let her body, which had been magma-like till this point, become pure flame. Evanescent. His punches went right through her, but she remained manifested. Wholly present. Just another form. You want me to be inside of you, is what I understand? Lassair said, very softly. Oh, you had only to ask.
She poured herself in through the seared eye socket. Distilled herself to raw starfire, and raged through his body, burning him from the inside out. The spirits inside of him wailed in terror and tried to stop her. One of them tried to sheathe her in electricity. Another tried to turn the body wholly to stone. The third begged her, Sister, mercy, please . . . .
It almost stayed Lassair’s hand. But then spirit-senses looked out of the body and saw Trennus’ still form, lying in the corner, and Lassair hissed and wrenched the fragments free of the flesh that bound them. Return to the Veil, if you can, Lassair told them, as they began to dissipate. Not enough energy to sustain them, and she wouldn’t let them drink from the tremendous ambient flows. That is the only mercy I offer you today. For the one who bound you? Nothing.
She pulled herself out of the body, going up like a pillar of flame, before settling back into her winged human female form, before looking down at the charred remains of the one who had presumed to bind so many. She met Steelsoul’s eyes, then Stormborn’s. Looked past them to Mamaquilla, who still knelt in place, rocking the body of her beloved in her arms. And then, wearily, Lassair stepped over to where Trennus lay. Her power still pulsed in him, keeping his heart alive, pushing a little blood to his brain. Light still shone down from above, from Inti’s final gift to his people. Only five minutes had actually passed since Trennus had given himself to her, completely surrendering himself. Oh, beloved, Lassair said, kneeling to lift his head, and cradling it in her lap. She could feel the earth shifting below them. Fire building in the mountain. You dared so much for me. How can I not match you with equal daring?
Stormborn, after embracing Steelsoul, followed after her. Lassair could feel Truthsayer and Emberstone unbind their protections, and enter the room, their spirits fearful within them. Saraid’s presence was a tiny flicker of will. The forest-spirit was only manifesting enough of herself to protect Trennus’ body from further harm, the bulk of her attention apparently elsewhere. The hind did not even acknowledge Lassair’s presence.
Stormborn crouched down beside Lassair, and put a hand to Trennus’ chest. “Worse than the wound Adam took in Judea,” she assessed, quietly. “You’ve kept him alive?”
The spirit lives. The body is . . . preserved. Can you . . . ?
“I can only heal by taking the wound, and this is too grievous. It would cost my own life.” Stormborn’s voice was choked with tears, and more hail rattled into the ruins, pelting against the floor. “If you can heal it partially, however . . . .”
You can take the rest?
r /> “Yes.”
“Sig—” Steelsoul’s voice was horrified. “I can’t watch you go through that again—”
“I will not let Tren die if I have it in my power to save him,” Stormborn returned, her voice resolute. “A death-god died here today. Let’s put whatever reprieve that grants us, to good use.” She swallowed. “If there’s any reprieve at all. The emperor died, after all.”
There has been a reduction in local entropy, Mamaquilla said, her voice plangent with sorrow. You will find it easier to heal your friend and reunite body and spirit. But you must hurry.
Lassair felt a wave of gratitude pass over her. She closed her eyes, and once more, poured herself into a body. She found the grievous wound in the heart, and knitted the tissues back together. Poured her own life-essence into them. Flame-heart, Trennus had always called her, a loving nickname. Now it might well be his own name, as she wrote herself into his tissues, scribed herself into his essence, and then pulled back, exhausted. The work was delicate and exacting, and there was a sense of pressure in the earth. We have to hurry, Lassair told the others. Saraid, sister . . . can you help us?
I will help him. Saraid’s voice held reproof and grief, but Lassair didn’t understand it. She only cared that the forest-spirit was already pouring her energies into Trennus’ body, binding the damaged flesh back together. But Saraid left no marks of herself, no traces.
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