Blinded by Power: 5 (The Death Wizard Chronicles)

by Jim Melvin

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful.”

  “You too . . . great one.”

  Once again Burly detected no derision. He reined his mount and rode southward with what haste he could manage.

  The Great Sacrifice

  56

  SINCE HIS ENCOUNTER with Bhayatupa, Rathburt’s sessions of meditation were more rewarding than ever. He was able to sit cross-legged on a lumpy boulder for a thousand slow breaths without the slightest movement or discomfort. Never before—even the one time he accidentally had achieved Sammaasamaadhi—had he reached this level of single-mindedness. It filled him with peace and joy and gave him relief from the impending doom that awaited him: the moment that would define this life and all the others to come.

  But when Rathburt slept, there was no peace or joy. Nightmares haunted every moment. Most focused on the Badaalataa, the carnivorous vines from the demon world. He relived, over and over, his painful rescue of Elu, if it could be called a rescue. He had restored the Svakaran’s life, but at what price? Elu had become more than a man—and less than one: more because he housed the physical remains of several warriors in his body; less because he had been resurrected in such a tiny body. In the end, however, Rathburt dreamt of his own pain. Rebuilding Elu had not been pleasant, to say the least.

  The moment that Invictus had cast his gruesome spell on Torg, Rathburt had sensed it, causing him to fall onto his face and sob, then sit up and scream. Then finally collapse into dreadful unconsciousness.

  The following morning, Rathburt picked up his staff, took a long drink from a clear-running finger of the Cariya River, and then started steadily toward his destiny. He no longer was afraid. He had spent so much time fretting, worrying, and feeling sorry for himself, he had become immune to self-pity. He would do what he had to do.

  For Torg’s sake.

  For Laylah’s sake.

  And the sake of everyone else.

  For the first time in his life, Rathburt would perform a deed that was utterly unselfish. Even his rescue of Elu had been selfish to a degree, in that guilt born of cowardice had motivated him.

  “Torgon, though I hate to admit it, I do love you as a brother,” Rathburt said out loud. “You would probably find this amusing, but I’ve always wanted to be like you. Of course, we both know how miserably I’ve failed, in that regard. But you’ve always claimed that there is more to me than meets the eye. Maybe, for once, you were right. When all is said and done, you’ll be proud of me . . . my friend.” The last two words were whispered.

  When Rathburt reached the open plains, he saw two figures approaching from the distance: one tall, one squat and thick. They walked side by side with unwavering confidence. But if they were aware of his presence, he could not yet discern.

  Rathburt wasn’t particularly afraid. He no longer could be considered a weakling, by any standards. In fact, he was bloated with power. Death Energy, combined with dragon essence, surged through his sinews and also through the dense fibers of his wooden staff. Even his legendary slump was less pronounced. Rathburt doubted that anything he faced now would be able to derail him from his purpose. If so, he might welcome it. But he couldn’t allow such hopeful thoughts to creep into his awareness.

  His doom, first revealed to him at the frozen waterfall and then reiterated time and again by the ghost-child and the damnable demon, could not be avoided. The funny part was he no longer desired to avoid it. A few moments of agony and horror would be worth the pleasure they would buy him in the eons to come.

  “Hey, there!” he called to the strange pair, in a purposely dramatic tone. “I am a wizard of great renown on a quest of huge import. If you choose to thwart me, you will do so at your peril.”

  As if they hadn’t heard, the pair continued forward. Now Rathburt could see that it was a man carrying an enormous weapon, and with him a very large animal. They were coming straight for him. Rathburt stopped and held his ground.

  “If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get,” he shouted, mimicking the words of the Vasi master who had tormented him centuries ago.

  Instead of slowing their approach, the pair began to run. This amazed Rathburt, and he thought, “They really do want to fight.” But then he heard the man shouting his name. “Rathburt . . . aw, Rathburt . . . it’s me! Me!”

  Then the large man was taking him in his arms and holding him tight, sobbing with joy. Rathburt finally understood. It was Elu. Though not the man-child he had restored from the horror of the vines. It was Elu—as he had been before.

  Elu hugged Rathburt so hard he began to wonder if he might swoon from lack of breath. The Svakaran, no longer diminutive, laughed, sobbed, and smacked the wizard on the back, all at the same time. The bear, huge and black, ran in frantic circles around the two men, grunting playfully and occasionally nipping at Rathburt’s skinny calves.

  Rathburt made the same noises as Elu, so happy was he to see his friend again. But when they finally separated and looked at each other through swollen eyes, they realized that things had changed. Elu was more than what he had been . . . and less. It was not just the size of his body that was different. Once they began to talk and exchange tales, Rathburt recognized that Elu’s personality also was altered. Now the Svakaran was more serious and stern, like he had been in his prime. Apparently, at least some of his good nature had come from the other warriors that Rathburt had magically blended into the incarnation. His magic had been able to separate the human flesh from the plant, but he had not been able to separate one human being from another.

  It was almost noon before they settled down in the grass and ate a small meal from Rathburt’s pack. The bear disappeared for a time, apparently to forage on its own, leaving the men alone, as they had been so many times before. But now they were oddly uncomfortable in each other’s presence, like friends who had met unexpectedly after years of distant separation.

  Per usual, Rathburt tried to make a joke out of discomfort. “Your new body looks great, Elu, but your choice of clothes leaves a lot to be desired.”

  The Svakaran did not smile. “The sorcerer did this to me.”

  “He gave you those clothes?”

  “Don’t be foolish. You know what I mean. And you know who the bear is, too.”

  Rathburt sighed. “Yes.” Then he looked hard into the Svakaran’s eyes. “You fear that you contain a portion of Invictus’s evil?”

  “Could it be otherwise?”

  Rathburt thought this over. After a long pause he said, “Not everything the sorcerer does is evil. His intentions are evil—or at least what you and I would consider evil—but his methods aren’t always that different from those of any magical being. He even uses some of the same spells as The Torgon or Jord might employ. After all, much of what we define as magic originated with the demons, and all share from that ancient pool. It’s just that Invictus is far stronger than everyone else.”

  Elu looked puzzled. “If the sorcerer’s intentions are evil, then what he did to Ugga makes sense. But if he wanted to harm me, he chose a strange way of doing so—giving me the gift that I’ve desired for so many years.”

  “Is it truly a gift?”

  “Of course.”

  “Wait, Elu . . . think about this. Before he gave you this gift, were you unhappy?”

  “No . . .”

  “Did you lack friends?”

  “No . . . but . . .”

  “And are you unhappy now?”

  “Yes . . . no . . . as I said, I’m confused.”

  Rathburt sighed again. “Invictus did give you a gift, though it came with a price . . . and it’s the price that he intended as your punishment. Before he changed you back to your original self, your mind contained several karmas blended into one—and not just that, but you seemed to have harvested the best of each. Now you’re once again a single being. In some ways, that makes you free. In others, it imprisons you in the same way as the rest of us.”

  Elu chuckled softly. “I never took you
for a philosopher.”

  “I’ve changed too,” Rathburt said. “And like you, some for the better and some the worse.”

  The bear came charging back, its short snout slathered with honey. Before Rathburt could even raise his arms to defend himself, he was licked messily on the face. Rathburt squealed and then fell onto his hands and knees.

  Elu laughed. “Good one, Ugga!”

  Rathburt wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “How disgusting! The damn bear stinks worse than the druid queen. But not as bad as the old Ugga, I suppose.”

  Elu continued to laugh, the sound deep and masculine. Perhaps realizing, on some level, that he had overstepped his bounds, the bear lay next to them and feigned sleep.

  Finally the Svakaran regained control of his mirth. Then he yawned. “What now, Rathburt?” he said sleepily. “Do we return to the longhouse? You, me, and Ugga? And what of Jord? Will she join us?”

  Rathburt’s expression grew sad. “You and Ugga should go. I’ll find you, eventually. There’s something I have to do first . . . and it must be done alone.”

  “Don’t be silly. Ugga and I aren’t about to leave you.”

  The bear lifted his head and grunted. Then pretended to go back to sleep.

  “I appreciate your concern,” Rathburt said. “But I’m not in a position to argue. There is something I must do . . .”

  “Ugga and I will do it with you.”

  “No,” Rathburt said with such vehemence that Elu and the bear leapt to their feet and backed away. Rathburt also stood, waving his staff menacingly. “I am not asking your permission. I tell you that there is something I must do . . . alone.”

  Elu held out the palms of his hands in a gesture of peace. “Rathburt . . . it’s all right. I didn’t mean to anger you.” Then he placed his hand on Rathburt’s shoulder. “This is about your vision at the waterfall?”

  Rathburt felt his anger fade. “I cannot lie to you. But neither can I permit you to thwart me. Too much is at stake.”

  “We will come with you . . . wait . . . let me finish. We will come with you, but we will not attempt to stop you. I promise.”

  “You don’t understand,” Rathburt said. “It will not be . . . pleasant.”

  “We will stand aside.”

  “No matter what?”

  “I can’t speak for Ugga . . . but I will stand aside.”

  “Very well . . . come then,” Rathburt said. “Before I lose my nerve.”

  “No time for a nap?” Elu said with a yawn. “You and I used to take lots of naps when we were friends before.”

  Rathburt also yawned. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. But just a short one.”

  Elu smiled and then lay on his side in the grass next to the giant axe. Ugga was already asleep, and this time not pretending. Rathburt also lay on his side, closed his eyes, and counted sixty slow breaths. Then he sat up and lowered his face within a finger-length of the Svakaran’s.

  “Niddaayahi (Sleep),” he whispered. Bluish tendrils crept from his mouth and slithered into Elu’s nostrils. Rathburt did the same to the bear, just to be sure. Then he stood and watched them in silence, tears streaming from his eyes. When he was certain they would remain still, he took his staff and continued alone across the plains.

  By the time he reached the battlefield, the quarter moon had risen. About a mile to the west, a huge pyre was ablaze. Several score Jivitans stood nearby, so intent on the fire that they didn’t notice a solitary figure creep past them in the deep darkness beyond the flames. Rathburt was no warrior, but he did have a Tugar’s innate ability to move with stealth.

  Soon after passing the pyre, the stench of decomposing flesh assaulted him. Little more than a day had passed since the battle had ended, but the smell already was bad enough to make Rathburt want to vomit. Still, he had felt nauseated even before encountering the odor. What he was about to attempt would sicken the bravest warriors of any time or age, much less a slumped old man who had been a coward since the day he sprang from his mother’s womb.

  Rathburt stopped in front of the lone tree, collapsed to his knees, and sobbed. “Damn you, Torgon! All I ever wanted was to be a simple, humble gardener. In the name of Anna, what’s so terrible about that? And yet here I am . . . being asked to be so much more. Damn you!”

  Rathburt was far enough away to be out of earshot of the Jivitans. Otherwise, the battlefield was devoid of life. Except for scavengers . . . and the tree.

  “You don’t understand,” Rathburt said, still sobbing. “None of you understand. I’m a coward . . . I know I’m a coward. But the pain . . . this pain. It’s too much to ask of anyone.”

  Since he had foreseen his fate in the frozen waterfall west of Kamupadana, Rathburt had spent months trying to escape this moment. But not even dying had freed him from his doom. Now he was more frightened than he had ever been in his life—and that was saying something—but out of nowhere an unexpected calm began to bloom. Perhaps it was the dragon essence. Or his own weariness. But he understood with finality that the horror he was about to endure would not last forever. Like all things, it would have a beginning, middle, and end. And once it was over, he would benefit from it for eons to come. In a relative sense, what was about to occur would pass in the blink of an eye. He could do this.

  Even more surprisingly, he discovered that he wanted to. Not for himself, but for his king.

  “Torgon,” he said, still on his knees. “I would like to say something to you that I’ve never said before.” Rathburt sobbed again—then, haltingly, whispered, “I . . . love . . . you.”

  Rathburt laid his staff gently on the ground at the base of the tree, stood gracefully, and took a step forward before wrapping his spindly arms around the trunk, just beneath the base of each branch. Then he squeezed hard, as if hugging his dearest friend.

  Rathburt remained in this position for several hundred long breaths. Anyone who might have passed by in the darkness would not have differentiated him from the tree, so motionless was his body. It was as if he had become a part of the wood, absorbed into the smooth bark. But finally his body began to glow—as blue as a clear winter sky.

  Rathburt whimpered.

  The thick knob at the top of the tree quivered, ever so slightly. Black fibers sprouted from the bark and sprang upward.

  Rathburt let out a raspy yelp.

  But he held on tight.

  And the blue glow intensified, incinerating his clothing.

  Next, a pair of glimmering orbs—half a finger-length apart—formed on the front face of the knob. Smoke oozed from their openings, and black fibers sprang from their upper rims. Meanwhile, the hair on Rathburt’s head, as well as his eyebrows and eyelids, curled up and disintegrated.

  He howled.

  As if invisible hands were peeling it off, the bark at the top of the knob fell away. Revealed was a silky blanket of black fiber, and beneath that the barest hints of human skin. More bark tumbled to the ground, exposing eyes, ears, and then nostrils that suddenly flared, hungrily sucking air. In response, the skin on Rathburt’s scalp, face, and ears bubbled and split, revealing fatty tissue and white bone.

  Rathburt screamed in agony. But he held on tight.

  And the blue glow grew even brighter.

  When Torg’s mouth was finally freed of its sorcerous prison, the king of the Tugars shouted in dismay. “Rathburt, don’t do this! Please . . . please . . . don’t do this!”

  Rathburt responded by squeezing the trunk even tighter.

  Torg’s muscular neck, shoulders, and arms tore from the bark, revealing his upper torso. The wizard reached down and attempted to shove Rathburt away. But Torg was too weak, and his rescuer too determined.

  Meanwhile, Rathburt’s own skin and muscle seemed to implode, exposing more white bone to the cool night air. He wailed and whimpered, flinging his skull-like head from side to side. But he held on tight.

  And the blue glow became bright as a star.

  “It’s not worth it!” Torg pleaded. “Eve
n if you save me, I can’t do anything. He’s too strong.”

  Rathburt continued to wail.

  Torg’s chest appeared. Then his stomach.

  Rathburt’s rib bones appeared. Then his internal organs became visible. “Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!” Rathburt screamed. “Yaaaaaeeeeeeeeee . . . Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!”

  “No . . . no . . . no! . . . Raaaaaaathburt . . . don’t . . . do . . . this!”

  But Rathburt did not relent. Until he had no strength left. His final words, in this lifetime, were “I . . . love . . . you . . . Torgon.” When he finally released his grip, he was little more than a skeleton. His corpse crumpled onto the grass.

  There, Rathburt lay still. He was no longer.

  57

  THOUGH IT PAINED him almost beyond tolerance, Elu kept his promise. A portion of Invictus’s magic still clung to his and Ugga’s flesh, making both resistant to Rathburt’s sleeping spell. After the wizard departed, they had risen and followed—and when Rathburt stopped in front of the tree, they’d hidden behind a pile of corpses.

  At first the wizard appeared to be doing nothing more than hugging the trunk. But then they witnessed Rathburt’s agonizing sacrifice, on behalf of his king. The Svakaran cried and covered his eyes; the bear coughed and growled. When it was over, Elu felt as if he had shared in Rathburt’s physical and emotional agony, and the sadness he felt over the loss of his longtime friend was almost too much to tolerate.

  Though there had been a significant amount of flashing light and raucous noise, the Jivitans who had remained to tend the pyre about a mile to the west had not seemed to notice. As far as Elu could tell, most were too busy splashing the crackling fire with pitch to pay attention to anything else.