Rod of the Heart

by Cebelius

  Yet he remained conscious, and as the seconds passed, the pain revealed itself for what it was. Magic. His magic. He sensed it on an instinctive level. The power he was being assaulted with belonged to him. It was his to use, his to control, and though he did not know how to do so precisely, the rough shape of what needed doing was there in his mind, like a shape invisible in darkness is revealed by the indirect light shining from behind a curtain. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he knew it was there, knew he could use it to master the pain.

  It was pain. Unmistakable, raw, hot. His insides felt like they were boiling, but it was with a curious sense of detachment that he was able to stand, set the butt of the staff down on the ground before him, and open eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed.

  Euryale was staring at him, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Cecaelia was smirking at him, her dark eyes lit with approval.

  Inside his mind, he felt the staff, though still raging, subside. Its voice was flat and unfriendly. 'I am beaten. As it is my nature to serve, I will do so, though not gladly!'

  Terry said through gritted teeth, "This ... REALLY ... hurts."

  "Master ... you look amazing!"

  He shrugged. There were no mirrors around, and he realized that he hadn't really taken a good look at himself in weeks. It was one of a thousand and one little things that this world just didn't have many of, or any of now that he thought of it. He hadn't seen a single actual mirror in all the time he'd been here.

  'Focus, Master. The dragon is still coming.'

  Prada's voice brought him back to himself, and he said aloud, "How am I supposed to do anything? I feel like I am literally burning from the inside out. I have no idea how I'm even conscious right now. I shouldn't be able to talk. I should be screaming."

  'I am ... meddling, Master. Trust me though, you mastered the staff on your own. The pain hasn't subsided, I am simply partitioning it for now. You will have to come to grips with the staff's effect on the mana in your system later. For now, don't complain about me cheating a bit. My life is on the line here too.'

  Cecaelia said, "I would presume your familiar is helping you control things, and for that you should be thankful. The dragon will be here in moments. As you are now, you are quite the spectacle, trust me. All you have to do is draw the dragon here, to stand on the sands. Once its body is inside the arena, you need to slam the butt of the staff down and say in your native tongue, 'By right of my bond with the Mistress of the Deep and by the power in my veins, I demand all herein be transported beneath the waves.' When you say the words, you must channel all of your mana into the staff, and the staff must remain in contact with the ground. I cannot describe it any better than that, but I am certain you will be able to do this. You have focus that many a young mageling would envy. I will then be able to bring you and the dragon to me, and the city at least, will be saved."

  A thunderous crashing sound compelled Terry to turn, and he saw the dragon at the northern city wall, head up, roaring in triumph as it stepped over the heavy stone and began trampling the buildings nearest to rubble and kindling. The sheer size of it was overwhelming. As it spread its wings though, Terry noticed sizable holes in the webbing between ribs. Where once Asturial's scales had been so bright red as to be nearly iridescent, now they were dull and lifeless. Her once golden eyes were now a pale, bloodshot yellow as she lowered her head.

  He felt the dragon's gaze as an almost physical force, and the dragon opened its mouth, revealing row upon row of teeth, but beyond those, there was a distinctly bird-like beak that opened and released a piercing screech that even given the distance threatened to blow out Terry's eardrums it was so loud and so high-pitched.

  He could barely make out Cecaelia's words through the ringing in his ears. "Quickly now, daughter of Ceto! Turn me to stone, then flee into the keep. You now know that your plan to petrify the dragon has failed. It sees you, yet lives. Terrence Mack, I will either see you momentarily, or later on in hell. Which is yours to choose ... but I do hope to see you sooner, rather than later. You amuse me."

  "I love you, Master!" Euryale cried. "You better not screw this up!"

  The dragon was now thundering through the town, every step pulverizing buildings. Timbers the size of tree trunks were flying away from its forward charge like cut grass out from under a lawnmower and the ground was shaking so badly that Terry had to broaden his stance to keep his feet.

  He stared at the doom closing in on him as the last rays of the setting sun illuminated the city that deserved none of what he had brought, and gritted his teeth.

  I will not fail these people. By right of my bond with the Mistress of the Deep and by the power in my veins, I demand all herein be transported beneath the waves.

  He repeated the phrase to himself again. A thousand worries cascaded through his mind as time seemed to slow. As far as he knew, he'd been speaking his own tongue since he got here. How the hell was he supposed to make sure? How was he supposed to last until the dragon was all in with him? How many people were being killed right now while he waited for it to arrive? How the hell was he supposed to live through this?

  Do I even really care?

  Terry realized abruptly that, yes, he did care. But whether he lived or died didn't matter as much as making sure that this abomination didn't destroy Florence. It was here because he was here, and if he had to die to send it away, he'd pay that price. It wasn't even a choice in his mind.

  Still, I really hope I'm not about to kill myself sending it away.

  The dragon leapt, covering the last quarter mile in a single bound. Its rear legs came down on the stadium seating that had been so recently erected and the whole of the structure shattered in a cascading explosion that rippled from the point of impact all the way around to the seats behind Terry. He was thrown to the ground as the entire edifice was blown to kindling all around him by the raw force of the dragon's landing.

  He'd taken a deep breath, but he lost it in a rush as the world exploded around him.

  Prada deflected falling debris in constant, vicious crimson swirls of motion as he got to his feet, only to be shaken back to his knees by the twin booms of the dragon's forelegs as they slammed into the sand not twenty feet from him.

  I think that's as 'in the arena' as this thing is going to get.

  Gathering all his courage, he took a deep breath as he looked up into the yawning jaws of a dragon and screamed, "I'm here! What the FUCK do you WANT?!"

  The gaping maw above him was fifty feet wide and surrounded him on all sides. Beyond the fetid and rotting remains of the inside of the dragon's mouth was a beak, like the kind that would belong to a bird, or perhaps an octopus. Even the tongue protruding from it was several times bigger than he was. The sheer size of the thing almost made him forget his purpose.

  So this is what a pucker factor 11 feels like.

  The thought made his lips twitch. He was about to die. May as well die laughing.

  Then something incredible happened. At the sound of his words the thing actually paused, then the jaws retreated until he could see those massive, pale, yellowing eyes as they regarded him with open hatred. They blinked.

  He did too, but for a completely different reason.

  I cannot BELIEVE that shit actually worked. Well, it's in the circle, and it's going to say something stupid, just like the bad guy at the end of a movie. Now or never, T-Mack. This is one shot for all the marbles.

  The voice that shrieked from the dragon's maw was utterly unlike Astur's. It was high and screeching, almost like a parrot. If that parrot were the size of a skyscraper.

  And pissed.

  "TEMPLATE! You have slain my mentor! I will have vengeance!"

  Terry paid it no attention though. As it spoke he found his feet and focused all his willpower on the staff in his hands. He willed the fire he could still sense raging inside him into the dark wood of the staff, and slammed it firmly into the sands as he enunciated each word, praying that he was doing so in intelligible E
nglish.

  "By right of my bond with the Mistress of the Deep and by the power in my veins, I DEMAND all herein be transported beneath the waves!"

  "NYAAAAAAA!!"

  The high-pitch screech of the dragon-thing pierced his mind like a red hot spike driven through an ice block. His eardrums ruptured under the onslaught of sound as those gargantuan jaws yawned toward him and a brilliant ruby light flared all around.

  Then with shocking abruptness, everything went dark.

  31

  The Deep Court

  Terry felt around inside his mind for signs of Prada's presence, but she was gone. The burning in his blood was gone. He could neither see, nor feel anything except an endless cold. He opened his eyes, but the view didn't change. He held his hand up in front of his face, but sensed nothing.

  So this is what it's like to die. I mean, REALLY die.

  "Not ... quite."

  The voice wasn't inside his mind, but it may as well have been. He felt it as a vibration against his skin, as though his entire body had been turned into an eardrum. It also revealed to him that he was underwater, and that the endless cold was being transmitted to him through that water along with the sound.

  "Terrence, I need you to remain calm. Can you do that for me?"

  Sure, what's the worst that could happen at THIS point?

  Light poured over him as a portal began to open in front of him. It began as a horizontal slit easily two hundred feet wide that shed a pale blue radiance. As the portal continued to open though, a spot of black appeared near the top. The doors, or whatever they were, continued to peel away, and the spot of black got bigger, and bigger ... and bigger.

  Finally, the eyelid peeled out of sight around the curvature of the eye, and that pit of endless black that served as a pupil shifted until the light from the iris was only a distant thing radiating out around him, but no longer at him. Terry had to have been far too small for that eye to actually focus on, but he felt the weight of its attention and knew with absolute certainty that he'd been completely right about Cecaelia being a true monster ... but he had still managed to underestimate her.

  Dramatically.

  He tried to imagine the size something would have to be to own an eye that large and failed. It was too far outside his experience. He remained calm, but only because most of his higher brain functions shut down in the face of what he was seeing.

  "Well, at least you didn't immediately lose your mind. That's happened more than once."

  Seconds passed, and finally Terry managed to get enough of a grip to think, Hi, Cecaelia.

  "Hi, Terrence Mack. We meet at last."

  You've been using proxies, just like the dragons do.

  "I always appreciate the intelligent ones more. Yes, Terrence. Essentially correct. If I were to surface personally, my body would collapse under its own weight once I ran out of mana to support it. I am the largest of the Powers. Even Tiamat is a distant second."

  If we're that deep under the water, I suppose the dragon isn't a problem anymore.

  "Try not to make me chuckle, Terrence. You might not survive the vibrations. As it is, I am holding the pressure and cold at bay for you. The aberration that used to be Asturial is now about one-third its natural size and floating away. The brainiac inside it will freeze to death in another minute or so once its mana is depleted. Those creatures are very resilient, but there is almost nothing that can withstand these depths. You did very well in casting your first ritual magic. Congratulations."

  Terry looked around, and in the pale blue light he saw a small globe about the size of a basketball floating a foot or so to his left. It took him a moment to recognize Prada, but that's the only thing it could be. She had been compacted into a perfect sphere, and seemed completely inert.

  "I had to expel Prada from your body in order to control the pressure inside you. With no internal structure the pressure just serves to keep her contained and does no harm of itself. She is in torpor from the cold, but will recover once I return you to the surface. Unfortunately, doing that will take time. Your own power protected you for the moment it took me to 'catch' you, as it were. However, you will not recover enough to go back by the same route before your body acclimates too much to this depth despite my best efforts. Should you port back, you would explode."

  Not fun.

  "You wouldn't feel a thing. I think Euryale might be disappointed in me though. Despite the near impossibility of reaching me here, she might manage it. She has time, after all, and would certainly be determined enough. I'd just as soon not upset her. As you can see, my eyes are fairly large. It would be impossible for me not to see her coming."

  There was a subtle sense of humor in the words, but Terry just nodded. The cold was getting to him, despite Cecaelia's assurances that she was keeping the worst of it at bay.

  Thank you, for saving Florence.

  "I didn't save Florence, you young fool. I saved YOU. In bringing the brainiac here, you killed it on your own. It died purely as a result of your power."

  Sure, given the ritual you prepared for me in advance.

  There was a subtle stirring in the water, and pain wracked Terry as his organs shuddered inside him.

  "Accept the compliment, hero. I am holding very still for you, and you should take it as a given that annoying me will serve you poorly."

  Yes Ma'am. So what happens now?

  "Since I believe it would be rather inadvisable to attempt to have my way with you, I will take you back to the surface. Since we are also a considerable distance from shore, the trip will take most of two days. I will put you to sleep for the duration."

  He thought for a moment, then tried again.

  Thank you then, for saving ME.

  "... You are welcome, Terrence Mack. You have slain an Arch-Locutor, then used what I offered you to protect a province of mine from devastation, if not outright destruction. I am pleased, but if you would retain my favor I would have you do more. When you leave Florence, go to the Arch-Locutor's body and search until you find an object that looks like a black seed. It will be about the size of your doubled fists and will radiate killing intent. Ensure you have as much mana as you can before you pick it up. Allow no one else to touch it, as it would likely instantly corrupt a lesser being into a zone beast. It will attack you, but you must master it. Given time, you will convert it, just as you will convert the Rod of the Heart. Death seeds were not always thus, and this one will be your first real chance to strike back at Thomas."

  Her voice trailed away, then she said, "It is likely that this is the last we will see of each other for some time. Is there anything else you would have of me?"

  Why didn't Euryale turn the dragon to stone when it saw her?

  "Athena's curse is actually fairly specific. Only the LIVING are turned. Asturial's body was already dead and decaying. It was a puppet only, and so immune. Brainiacs have no eyes of their own."

  Terry thought about that. He had so many more questions, but he didn't know which to ask. He didn't know what was truly important. So instead he asked something else.

  Just now, you knew Euryale's curse was from Athena. And before — in the arena just before the dragon attack — you called her the daughter of Ceto. Hell, even I didn't know that until after she'd introduced herself as such. There's only one person aside from Euryale and me on this whole planet who could know both those things, and that's her sister. Unless ... YOU'RE Ceto ... aren't you. You're one of the elder gods that came before Zeus. And if that's true it means ... holy shit.

  He gazed up at the all-encompassing eye floating in the dark void in front of him. He didn't want to complete the thought, but it was right there. He couldn't help it.

  It means I fucked Euryale's mom.

  Another rumbling, this one more pronounced, disturbed the waters around him and Terry instantly lost his eyesight. It seemed to him as though blood were leaking from everywhere blood could leak. His insides felt like they'd been torn apart, and he was certain th
at he was moments from death.

  Despite this though, it was so cold he barely felt any pain, and as was becoming something of a habit, he sought the humor in a grim situation.

  Don't suppose you can forgive me? I'm not exactly used to watching what I think around women. Most girls can't pluck the thoughts right out of my puny brain.

  "I did warn you not to make me laugh, idiot. Yes, you had sex with Euryale and her mother. I knew that long before, and quite honestly I'm thrilled. My daughter has a skilled lover for a companion. Do you know that you're one of only three mortal heroes that even TRIED to pleasure me as I took from them, much less succeed? You will live, Terrence Mack, provided you don't kiss and tell. Cecaelia is how I am called here. Ceto is a mantle I can no longer safely claim."

  Why not? Do you think Euryale wouldn't want to see you?

  "No, for I cannot lift the curse of the Olympians. She has prayed to me for ages for solace I cannot grant. If she were to learn of me and come hither, I could only disappoint her ... though now that you know, I can thank you for giving me the chance at least, to lay eyes upon my precious Euryale again. It has been so long since she felt anything but loneliness, despair, and pain. Cherish her for me. Watch over her, for me."

  He still couldn't see and his body still felt damaged in ways he had no way to describe, but trusting in her assurance that he wouldn't die he asked the only question left in him that mattered at just that moment.

  Is there any way home for me?

  "None living may leave Celestine through the power of any who dwell within. No agent of the zone, nor of any other Power, can send you home. I am not saying you will never attain the afterlife you deserve ... but you will never again see Earth through the eyes of a living man. Your death there cannot be undone ... just as your soul cannot be undone. Take heart, young hero: power comes and goes, but you can never lose your soul. You can twist it, corrupt it, deny it, redeem it, even share it, but it will never leave you. To say 'a man AND his soul' is incorrect. A man IS his soul. The proof of this — though I cannot show you — is that your original body remains on earth, now food for worms. Your scars exist because you believe they should. They are how you know yourself."