Necrosis (The Omens of Gaia Book 1)

by H. C. Damrosch

Much time has passed since you departed. But we have not forgotten. Our Lord was wrathful when you chose to rebel against Him; humiliating indeed, that one of the brethren should wish to leave His righteous embrace. He offered dire threats to any who wished to follow your example, and handsome rewards to any faithful enough to kill you. Submit now and perish; Our Lord will be well pleased.

  The mental onslaught redoubled, and Akar screamed, his body rigid, his will pummeled by the combined might of his brethren. They had no need to even raise their swords against him; they had only to break his will to live.

  Keren twisted around, clawing at the earth, lying flat on her belly as she peered between the robes of the gathered Necrow. Their concentration on Akar brought her a brief respite. She could think again, if just barely. How could this happen…they had been so sure…and now Akar would die…

  Akar! You must fight them! Don’t leave me! The song of the Kirin rose in her, bittersweet and lovely in its pain. It buttressed the remnants of her will, transfiguring desperation into resolve. Her inner torch blazed with light. In her mind Keren was running, throwing herself over Akar, shielding him with her body. Her consciousness fell over his like a cloak, disguising him as he once had disguised her, diverting each attempt to crush him.

  The host of Necrow fell back, confounded, their will slipping, unable to focus. What is happening? Why does he not die?

  Akar rose to his feet, roaring: “I will not die until I see our master eye to eye, and take his life!”

  No, you shan’t. The Master is immortal. Die, and spare Him the trouble…

  He drew his sword, sweeping it in a broad arc, throwing the Necrow back. “I refuse your offer! You have no other choice, for you cannot overcome me.” His will surged, renewed by Keren’s touch, invincible.

  The brethren glanced at one-another. Their voices were hen-like now, troubled and pecking. He will not die. This is a nuisance. What is to be done? We have no recourse. Do not doubt – the Master will take his life whether he wills it or not.

  Very well, brother; you may enter. They stepped aside and presented the gate: a dark tunnel leading into the depths of the mountain.

  Keren’s heart pounded. She was exhilarated, but also cowed by a terrible foreboding. The Necrow had not reacted as they expected, and had utter faith in the invulnerability of their master. She could not help thinking she and Akar had made a terrible miscalculation.

  Then again…that was exactly what the Necrow wanted them to think.

  Rough hands seized her, dragging her out of the dirt. Keren shrieked and kicked to no avail. How she wished she could mind-whip these creatures as easily as they’d done so to her! Unfortunately, the Kirin’s curse wasn’t much help in that regard.

  “The girl comes with me,” Akar said. “Unhand her!”

  The Necrow smiled behind their pale masks. None may enter Our Lord’s chamber uninvited. Do not trouble yourself, brother. She will be close behind. You will sense her life-force if anything happens, yes?

  “Just hurry up and kill him,” Keren gasped. “They won’t do anything to me unless Belshazzar tells them to. They don’t have that much initiative!”

  Akar gazed at her silently, his face as stern and dangerous as she had ever seen it. Then he turned and entered the gate. True to their word, the Necrow followed, dragging Keren with them. They made their way through the winding passages. The dark and damp made her claustrophobic, bringing back memories of all the horrors that had befallen her kin. She tried to focus on breathing; shallow breaths, so as not to choke on the awful stench.

  Akar made his way through the passages with confidence. He had probably trodden this path many times before. However, as he passed through the final doorway her captors held Keren back, slinking into the darker shadows of the passage.

  Ah…the fair maiden returns to us. This is a fortuitous day indeed.

  Keren whirled, her heart pounding. The Necrow to the left lifted its mask and smiled at her. Malthusias. Damn it all –

  Now, don’t be like that, little mouse. You should be grateful that you do not face the Master yet. Come, I am far more hospitable than that droll companion of yours…

  It was with resignation that Akar entered the hall of his birth. The dark chasm of the Well lay at its center, hushed whispers echoing from its gaping mouth. Far below the streams of light glowed, faint and sickly in comparison with the well of power Amaterasu had safeguarded.

  Across the room, seated atop a dais on a throne of granite, reclined the Master of the Necrow. His blood-red robe lay curled about the pedestal, his excellently trimmed beard propped on a ringed hand. His life-torch danced lazily in Akar’s inner sight.

  “So, this is the creation that went out into the world to seek its fortune. Welcome home.”

  “This is not my home,” Akar said.

  “I shall admit I never expected you to be so willful. Then again, you were made through my blood, so it is hardly surprising. I was the same, once. Always so rebellious.”

  Without another word, Akar drew his sword and ran across the hall. He reached the dais within moments, bringing his sword down in a sweeping arc.

  There was a flash of sparks as his blade met Belshazzar’s. The dark king smiled cruelly, sliding his blade downward, throwing his weight forward as he thrust his heel behind Akar’s pivoting leg. The Necrow went sprawling, landing heavily at the foot of the dais. He rose, popping strained joints back into place, and charged again with a cry.

  Belshazzar countered his next attack easily, stepping aside and cutting a deep furrow into his back. Akar wheeled, unfazed, and struck at him in a flurry of blows. He sent his blade hissing in from every angle, but Belshazzar parried each move with ease. Casually he exchanged blow for blow with his creation, looking almost bored as he did so. Finally he slapped Akar’s sword aside and ran him through the stomach, pinning him against the throne.

  “You wish to usurp me as Lord and Master?” He asked coolly. “Here then is your throne, King of the Necrow. Take it at your leisure.”

  Akar gagged, fighting against the pain, his muscles seizing in shock. His sword rose, preparing to deliver a fatal blow. Then his arm convulsed as his body refused to obey him. Every nerve and fiber cried out against harming this man.

  For the first time he felt the embers of terror begin to stir. He had charged in recklessly rather than risk his fear getting the better of him. That had been a foolish mistake; his master anticipated every move he made.

  “I will not die until I see you defeated, tyrant!” he spat.

  “Oh, is that so?” Belshazzar pricked his thumb on his sword. Reaching up, he pressed the thumb to Akar’s forehead. “Your blood is my blood; your will my will. The life you have borrowed shall now return to me.”

  Nothing happened. The Tyrant King’s face darkened. “Pity when these things cease to function as intended. Entropy sometimes accumulates more errors than it is possible deal with.”

  “You cannot take my life,” Akar panted, “Because I have already given it over to higher powers.”

  “Fool; your life is not yours to give. It is my own, to do with as I please!” the Tyrant King pressed his palm to his creation’s brow, nails digging into his scalp. Still his magic had no effect.

  “So, you won’t go quietly into that good night?” He hissed. “It seems I must offer you some further incentive.” He backhanded his creature across the face and turned to the others gathered in the hall. “Bring in the girl.”

  It took longer than it should have before the doors to the hall opened. One of the brethren staggered in, his mask off, looking sheepish. He dragged Keren by one arm, her robe torn and hanging from one shoulder. She clutched at the fabric in a vain attempt to cover herself.

  The Tyrant King regarded them with disdain. “This is the one you risked so much to save? Pity. Little good it has done either of you.” He flicked a finger at Malthusias. “Kill her.”

  Malthusias looked about to protest. Then, with a small sigh, he wrapped his hand aro
und the girl’s throat and squeezed. Keren clawed wildly at his icy grip, her face pleading. Strangulation was a slow way to die.

  “Give up now,” said Belshazzar, “and perhaps I will let her live a little longer.”

  Akar roared in fury and kicked the king away from him. Grasping the hilt of his master’s sword, he ripped the blade from his stomach. Both weapons were brought to bear on Belshazzar, who slowly subsided onto his throne.

  “If you murder her, no force of will shall keep me from slaying you, master!” Akar spat.

  Belshazzar regarded him thoughtfully. “Interesting. Your threat may actually carry some weight.” He waved his hand, and Malthusias loosened his grip. Keren coughed and gasped for breath.

  “I wonder…if you would rather settle this with a wager…?” the Tyrant King said slowly.

  “A wager?”

  “Yes…” Belshazzar propped his bearded chin on one fist. “I will present my philosophy and reasons for doing what I’ve done. You shall have the chance to prove it is not in my best interest. Convince me that I’m wrong, and you may leave my fortress unmolested.”

  Keren coughed in outrage. “That’s ridiculous… He’s not going to change his mind! He’s just going to play with us until he thinks of a way to kill us both!”

  “Perhaps,” Akar said grimly. “But then, the challenge is intriguing…”

  The Tyrant King smiled slyly. “Curiosity gets the better of us all. Now, convince me that I’m wrong.”

  “Bah! A man like you won’t admit fault even when it’s staring you in the face,” Keren muttered.

  Belshazzar smiled at her. “I take that to mean you would like to answer the wager yourself?”

  “Might as well, for all the difference it’ll make. I assume you’ve done all of this because you think you’re some kind of god –”

  The Master of the Necrow chuckled. “Your supposition could not be more false. Do you really think me that vain? I know very well there are no such things as gods.”

  “Wh…what?”

  The Tyrant King sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. He seemed then very old and very weary. “I imagine you think me an arrogant brute, catering to delusions of grandeur, granting myself the authority to invent laws and moralities on a whim.”

  “Um…yes.”

  “Have you met any gods, girl? Where exactly did you wander off to with my servant these past few months?”

  Keren glanced at Akar. He could see the terror she was struggling to conceal. Do not be intimidated by him. It is unnecessary to keep anything hidden. Not even what was spoken of in Oración.

  Keren swallowed. I know, but – Akar, you look terrible. How do you plan to –

  The plan is in progress. Keep him engaged as long as possible. Akar did not even know if their mind-link was safe, anymore. They played a game infinitely more dangerous than he had anticipated.

  “I met something that called itself a goddess,” Keren said. “I also spoke with people in the godless countries to the south and the west. You seem more like the first than like the other two; I guess all crazy tyrants are alike.”

  “Ahh…I have no knowledge of what you speak when it comes to gods, but I do have some acquaintance with the others,” said Belshazzar. “Their merchants and ambassadors were most entertaining. I’m afraid I find it impossible to take them seriously.”

  “I doubt you take anyone seriously. If you did, you’d have mercy on my people, at least!”

  “That is true. I suppose I should relate first the philosophy behind my position. Then you may object accordingly.” He smiled and tapped his finger on the throne, looking askance at the weapons Akar had trained on him. “The simple truth is that there is no meaning to life but what one makes of it. There is no value except for what pragmatism dictates. There is no future for man beyond the death of all things.”

  “That’s just silly!” Keren said. “People create values for themselves all the time! Everyone has something they love and cherish. You can’t think there’s no such thing as meaning or purpose just because you don’t have any!”

  “You speak as those from Pouthenos do, who believe life is valuable because they think it so, that it is meaningful because they see some sense in it, that it is purposeful because they invent purpose for themselves. Never do they stop to consider the logic in their words. What is purpose? What is value? What is meaning? There are no such things outside the pleasant fantasies we weave for ourselves, to fend off the despair of a blind and uncaring existence.”

  Keren froze, the memory of Pouthenos rising unbidden in her mind. What Akar had said during the aftermath of that terrible night when they fled the city: reason could not determine value. And in Perniciem, purpose and meaning were arbitrary, to be re-invented however one chose. What Belshazzar said was nothing new; it was the unspoken truth at the heart of the other nations.

  She shook her head. It didn’t matter if they all agreed with each-other; they were still wrong. “You despotic hypocrite! You’re just trying to justify your own immorality!”

  Belshazzar laughed mirthlessly. “What is morality, save an excuse to bridle one’s neighbor in accord with one’s own emotions? What I do on this throne is no different than what you and all your people have done for centuries: imposing your individual desires on one-another and blaming others when they refuse to do as you wish.”

  Akar, I don’t know what to do. There’s no way I can convince him of anything! Why can’t you just kill him?

  I cannot kill him; not yet. There must be some way to overcome his will. Try to appeal to his reason.

  Keren drew her tattered robe about herself, desperately trying to ignore the lurking presence of Malthusias at her back. The sight of the Tyrant King lounging on his throne was enough to make her want to rip her own hair out.

  The king’s hair was as black as the Necrow, the lines of his face hard and cruel. There was a subtle cunning in the arch of his brows, but the eyes beneath were utterly expressionless. This king was not like Amaterasu at all. Whereas she had possessed a twisted lust for life, he was devoid of even the most basic of passions. Even his humor was false, a cover-up for the black canker of apathy rooted in his soul.

  Keren licked her lips, trying to take heart from the fact that Akar had two blades pointing at the king’s head. They were not dead yet. Frantically she tried to think up some line of argument that Belshazzar might agree with. Ruthlessly practical, that was what she needed to be…

  “People invent moralities for a reason. They are necessary for groups to cooperate and grow. Without those ‘arbitrary decrees,’ society would never have come as far as it has. You’re just a parasite leeching off what others have built! And where will you end up? Alone, sickly and despairing, just like all of your victims. If you really wanted to be smart, you’d find some way to get along with those you wanted to rule, instead of obliterating them. Everyone – including you – would be better off if they all treated one-another with dignity and respect!”

  “Ah, so it no longer matters if humanity is inherently worthy of these things? You would try to convince me to act selflessly based on selfish interests alone. Very well,” Belshazzar swept his red-cloaked arm around the room. “Do you take me for a fool? I have more power than ordinary folk could ever dream of! All of mankind falls before me in fear and adoration. What benefits could I expect for myself, living as one sheep among many, bridled and stunted by social customs and morality? What would it be worth, compared to all of this? Why not live as a wolf among sheep instead?”

  “But…your philosophy…if everyone lived as you did –”

  “And yet they do not, because they are afraid. Every man is born a slave to his family, tribe, and nation. Once in a blue moon, conquerors are born who dare to dream of greater things. The petty rules of life for the normal man do not apply to such as me. Treating others with dignity is an arbitrary value that can be discarded without guilt at one’s earliest convenience.”

  “What is the point of
all this?! Why did you enslave my people, destroy our village and take our lives? Why bother with any of it, if life is meaningless and will all come to naught?”

  “Because it amuses me.”

  Keren quailed before his aphotic gaze. The man was truly without guilt, relishing his power even when one of his own minions held a sword to his throat. Before, Keren had raged with the desire to avenge herself upon him. Now, seeing the man himself, she only wanted to run away.

  “Your purpose is self-defeating,” she whispered. “If there is no truth, you cannot be superior to anyone else. If you only do what is practical, you should not abuse and enslave your fellow men. Someday, someone will defeat you. You cannot live forever. When you die, you will die alone and in misery…”

  “What does that matter, when everything falls to ruin with time, and one day all will be as if it never were? You think I give no thought to the future? I know my kingdom will come to ruin along with every other. At the end of it all, the skeletons of civilizations will all lay equal beneath the light of a dying sun. It is you who are nearsighted, obsessed as you are with present happiness, believing it outweighs the zero-sum game which is eternity, and can give value in the face of death!” Belshazzar rose from his throne, his bloody cloak swirling about him, dark brows furrowed.

  “Stupid, stupid girl. Like it or not, in the end, yours is the same philosophy of despair as mine. The only difference is that unlike me, you are too cowardly to confront the truth, seeking instead to soothe your despair with indulgence in fleeting and ephemeral half-truths.”

  He waved his hand. “I have grown tired of this. The wager is void. Malthusias, you may continue.”

  Keren felt the pervert’s cold hand wrapping about her neck once more. Shrieking, she lashed out at him with all her might. The Necrow had taken her dagger, but she still had teeth and nails with which to fight. She struck him several times before Malthusias casually punched her in the gut. Keren doubled over, unable to breathe, unable to even move, silently panicking at her sudden paralysis. How could one blow eliminate all feeling in her torso at once?