Malthusias laid a hand on her head, and she felt the last of her strength leaving her. The Necrow did not even have to strangle her; all it had to do was desiccate her life-force until her body died.
There was a distant roar across the hall – Malthusias’ head snapped back as Akar’s mind assaulted him. Keren fell to the ground, rolled, then staggered to her feet, running towards the dark pool at the center of the room.
On the dais, Belshazzar touched a finger to the sword Akar held. A shudder ran through the Necrow’s body; his arm convulsed and dropped the blade. Belshazzar swept up the weapon and swung, almost hewing Akar’s arm off.
Though Akar had been distracted by Keren’s plight, he recovered quickly, locking his sword with the king’s, grabbing his wrist with his free hand. The Tyrant King went pale, the blood draining from his face as Akar absorbed his life-energy. The wound in the Necrow’s stomach closed.
He raised his sword high, screaming at his master: “I am the hound of God, destined to strike the tyrant from his throne! By my judgment, you will be destroyed!”
His sword swung true, aiming to cleave the Tyrant King in two.
When the metal touched the king’s shoulder, however, the blade bent awry and leapt from his hand with a clap of thunder. Akar gaped at it in astonishment, and Belshazzar thrust a foot into his stomach to send him tumbling off the dais.
The Necrow landed hard on the ground near his warped blade. Dazed, he rolled over, reaching for the sword. His trembling fingers were but a hairs’ breath from the hilt when an anguished moan came from him.
Keren’s heart sank at the sound. It was a cry of despair, of fear falling into deepest sorrow. She remembered what Akar had told her in the valley. She knew in that moment that he had failed.
The flush of living blood coursed beneath Akar’s skin like fire under ice. The Necrow stared at the hand in horror. Then he clutched it to him, his entire body gripped by convulsions. His scream was one of utter agony; a panicked animal writhing as it sought to escape a hunter’s trap. His flesh contorted, taking on new color. His hair stood on end and glistened in the dim light.
Keren was reminded of childhood winters when, rushing in from the frigid cold, she would try to warm her icy hands over the fire. The feeling of life returning to her flesh was far more painful than when they had first become frozen. That is what she thought of when she saw the necrotic flesh transmuted into living blood and bone.
Belshazzar leaned on his sword, panting, a look of exhilaration on his face as the fallen creature writhed before him.
At last Akar grew still, his limbs sprawled across the frigid ground. Shallow breaths sobbed from his chest. His lips were pale, his cheeks flushed with blood, his eyes wide and staring, no longer blind. For a moment he lay staring in disbelief at the ceiling above. Then a tortured voice spoke in Keren’s mind: It’s gone! The light, the splendor, the pain – I can’t feel it anymore! Emptiness…only emptiness…I have no soul, after all…
That’s normal, you fool! Keren cried desperately. All humans feel that way! Our spirits are so tightly fixed to our bodies that we can’t feel anything outside ourselves!
Akar could not hear her, so frantic was he in search of something he could no longer see. His eyes had lost their look of blindness, acquiring instead a deep and startling blue. And yet, the look in them was one of torment, as if what he saw could not possibly satisfy him.
The Tyrant King barked with laughter. “My, that was unexpected! You deliberately chose to undergo your transformation at the moment when you thought you could save your companion, and then strike me down once my will had left you? Clever. But then, you are a shadow of my own self, so that’s hardly surprising. Pity such a clever plan should come to naught.”
Keren looked between them. Indeed, Akar looked related to Belshazzar; the same dark hair, sharply defined features, stern brows and slanted eyes. They looked faintly Herayan, but from what tribe, she could not guess. And yet, the expression on Belshazzar’s face: it was an unhindered lust for the pain of the man lying before him, a sadist relishing the torment of a fallen being.
“How are you taking pleasure from this? Isn’t he your creation? Why are you enjoying his pain?!”
“Ah, if only you understood the exquisite pleasure that comes from watching others crumble before an illusion you have already surpassed! Amusing, is it not, to see others trip and fall into a shallow ditch, and watch them wallow in what they imagine is an abyss?”
Keren tried to ignore him. Akar! Please, listen to me! The Kirin gave me a gift – perhaps you can see it, if you look hard enough… She reached out, desperately trying to convey that which could not be described. The other Necrow did not bother to hinder her as she moved towards the foot of the dais. Akar’s eyes rolled to look at her, gaping incredulously, as if unable to accept that she really stood before him.
Get back, Keren. It’s not safe. There’s nothing you can do –
No. There is much that I can do, even though I didn’t understand before. Keren knelt and clasped his head in her hands. She opened herself fully for the first time, accepting the Kirin’s song as it reverberated through her soul. Its rhapsody blazed in her deepest of hearts. Akar, I’m sorry I didn’t believe before; in what you saw, or what you planned to do. I’m sorry that I denied God, and I’m sorry that I’ve treated you as less than human all this time.
Akar stared at her in shock. Keren, why are you doing this –
There are but two choices to make, Keren whispered, tears running down her cheeks. One, that there is no such thing as good and evil. Two, that evil may reign in the here and now, but only because it is meant to bring about a greater good. If evil exists, so also must good. And if good exists, it must be all-surpassing.
Look at me, Akar. You cannot see how you used to, but do you really think there is no such thing as goodness, anymore?
She wrapped her mind around his, and her heart and soul sang out in glory. I refused to accept this before and for that I suffered, as I should have. Now I realize where I went wrong. I forgot how to love and shut myself off from the world. I hated life, and I hated you. There is still pain inside me, but it is a sweet pain. Do you see what I’m saying? Akar, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life beside you, however short that life might be.
The Necrow that had become a man stared at her in astonishment. Then he smiled. It’s taken you long enough. You waited for the worst moment, too, right in the middle of fighting a dangerous felon…
Hey! I’m trying to save your sanity, you jerk! Why can’t you show some gratitude? She blinked in embarrassment. By the way, how are we still talking mind to mind? Couldn’t you only do that because…
I do not know. It has always come naturally and would be difficult to forget, although it may require more effort, now.
“In theory, there is nothing that should prevent humans from communicating mind to mind,” Belshazzar grunted. “It is, however, such a rare and difficult skill to master, that practically no men possess it.” There are some exceptions, however.
Keren nearly jumped out of her skin. “How is he doing that?!”
Perhaps I am just an exceptionally talented man, Belshazzar smirked.
“No, you can’t be! Not even the sages were able to think in words, and they spent their entire lives on meditation and spiritual exercises! How –”
It’s obvious, isn’t it? Akar thought, picking up his battered sword. Lord Belshazzar was once a Necrow as well.
The Tyrant King’s smile was as cold and piercing as Keren had ever seen. “Oh, well done, my creation. You do indeed possess some shred of my formidable intellect. It is true that I was once undead, before I reached my current state of enlightenment.”
Keren felt faint. “How…why…what do you mean, you used to be a Necrow? The Necrow didn’t exist until you made them! Why didn’t you go insane like the others? Actually, never mind that last question – you’re still insane. Where’s your master? Whom do you serve?”
Keren understood, now, the unbridled exhilaration in his eyes when he gazed at Akar – he basked in the torment of a creature that was not strong enough to accept what he had accepted; one that had not been able to endure its newfound state as he had.
“Though my master longed for oblivion,” the Tyrant King continued, “he possessed this – insatiable curiosity about the afterlife. He imagined, somehow, if he could create a sentient creature with his intelligence and immediate experience, such a creature would have memories of the time before it was created. At last he managed to fashion me, the first of the Necrow. Do not ask for his reasons: they were rubbish. Shameful for a man of his intelligence to imagine that a golem would be able to tell him anything about life and death.
“In any case, after I learned everything I could from him, since he longed to know what death was like I decided to oblige him. I disposed of him and carved his rudimentary castle into this great fortress. He and his predecessors were foolish, obsessed with death as they were; a dead-end by definition, offering nothing. They ignored the fruits of the world that lay right under their noses. I obliged to remedy their mistake and appreciate what they had failed to realize.”
Akar rose into a crouch and stared levelly at his former master. “Your sentiments are hollow, your philosophy meaningless by your own admission. Open your eyes to truth, or you shall meet your end this day.”
Harsh laughter barked from the Tyrant King’s throat. “It seems the cosmos truly does relish a justice of sorts: the servant who slew his master is now to be slain by his servant in turn! My master was a fool, and so are you. Two of a kind, you are. It is said some traits tend to skip generations.”
Akar did not move. “You were correct about this life being blind and meaningless. That is only because you believe that all that exists is what you perceive with your five senses. You have extinguished the final sense which lay within your soul. Now you are like a blind man protesting that the sun does not exist because he cannot see it, and is determined to ignore all the other subtle signs of its presence.”
“Fool,” Belshazzar snarled. “You are as deceived as all the others, mistaking dreams for reality. You are a creature formed from the void; what you see are illusions generated by a malformed mind!”
“It is true that man would have no purpose, had it not been given to him by another. It is what lies beyond death that gives life meaning,” said Akar.
“Delirium and delusion! You know I speak with authority – I know what it is to be both Necrow and man!”
“As do I. Repent of your sins, and turn to God.”
The Tyrant King’s smile was as ice. His scorn fell upon them like a red tide: Ah…so that is your creed. Of all the delusions ever conceived by the minds of men, you have subscribed to the most absurd!
Akar flinched, but held firm. You deny His existence, set yourself in His place, and mock all of men’s hopes as follies, but in truth it is you that has succumbed to folly –
I am the living refutation of such a god! If he were real, surely he would never have allowed me to exist, knowing all the things I would one day set out to do. He must either be a moron, or a heartless tyrant like myself! Belshazzar stretched out his hand to the young man. So worship me, my creation, for I am the god you so desperately seek…
Shut up, Keren said. The cloak of her mind spread wide, shutting out the dark king’s influence. Akar looked at her in surprise as silence fell over them. You can negate his thought-speech?
Keren shrugged. It’s not that hard when I know everything that comes out of his mouth is a lie. After all our traveling I’ve gotten some inkling for what truth feels like. I know the Kirin gave me a gift. That monk gave you a gift, too.
Akar looked at her in wonder. I had forgotten. How did the blessing go?
He said: ‘May your sword strike true when the bearer’s heart is pure. When pride’s stain is wiped away, the Divine shall grant a power higher still’.
Akar let out a great sigh. I see. That is why the sword would not obey. Pride, of all things…being human is more confounding than anticipated. He raised the distorted blade and held it before him. Eyes closed, he began to chant under his breath.
Belshazzar flicked his sword idly. “Oh well. It was considerate of you to entertain me for a time. I rather enjoyed myself. And now, as your companion so aptly predicted, it is time for you to die!”
Keren gazed at Akar in awe. Dimly she could feel what he had once described to her: the torch of life bursting into an inferno, its flame reaching towards heaven. He spoke of reverence to the Power that had built the foundations of the earth and set the stars in their motions. He spoke of the One who knew the secrets in every heart. Above all, he spoke of humility; of lowering himself before Eternity as once he had mistakenly lowered himself before a human master.
The entire hall of the Tyrant King tensed, breathless. The masks of the Necrow all turned upward, as if searching for the firmament which lay beyond the dark ceiling, brightly lit by the beacon of the moon. Belshazzar did not notice – he merely raised his sword in preparation to slay the one that stood before him in prayer.
The fortress shook as with an earthquake, the very stones of the mountain groaning in wrath. Akar’s blade unbent itself and ignited with blue fire, a catalyst flinging sparks into the air. It shivered in his hands as if possessed. Every other sword in the hall resonated with it, leaping from hands and sheathes and clattering upon the floor. Their edges unraveled, growing legs like centipedes and fleeing like a swarm of locusts towards the throne.
Belshazzar roared as his own weapon leapt from his hand and joined the swarm. They whirled about the king in a tempest, shards of metal unweaving to become an infinite storm of blades. The king’s dark, unholy eyes blazed with fury, his hands reaching out as if to seize Akar with his will.
Then Belshazzar’s face was transfixed by horror. He opened his mouth as if to scream, and at that moment the storm of blades pierced him from all sides.
There was a ripple of power through the hall, and with a shiver the swords clattered to the floor. In their center lay a pile of ashes.
The mountain’s voice fell quiet. The rocks grew still.
The gathered host of Necrow collapsed, moaning, hands clutching their masks. As one the clay of their bodies rippled and catalyzed into living flesh. The flush of life seized at wrists and throats; ragged breathing wrenched from chests that had never drawn breath before.
Keren turned to Akar, shaking. “What on earth…just happened?”
Akar answered: “One of the Divine’s greater servants appeared, tearing the world apart with its coming. I could not see it, yet I felt its presence beside me. My soul became a doorway through which it stretched its hand. Its arm was infinite, black as pitch and robed in stars. Its fingers were like the pillars of the world. It seized Belshazzar in its fist and bore him away, down into the place where the Necrow dare not look.”
“How…?”
“I gave up my pride, and surrendered my soul.” Akar staggered and fell to his knees. His face was pale, his breathing rapid and shallow.
“Are you all right? Akar! Please don’t die, please –”
He looked up, a wan smile crossing his mouth. He took Keren’s head in his hand and kissed her.
Keren gave a muffled squeak of surprise, before giving herself up to the sweet sensation. She threw her arms around his neck, drinking in the warmth of his body. He smelled of blood, earth, and the rugged grass of the mountain prairie. His hair was soft and thick beneath her fingers, his mouth hot and yearning against hers. He was beautiful, and she loved him.
All around them the Necrow were stirring, raising their
hands to eyes that could suddenly see, masks of bone clattering forgotten to the ground. They stared at one-another in shock, then crept before the two in the center of the hall. Keren and Akar reluctantly broke from their embrace.
“Forgive us,” the former Necrow said, bowing their heads to the floor. “We were all deceived – willfully deceived – by our lord. We have done terrible things in his name. Mercy is asked, that you do not bring Azarael to bear upon us as well.”
“Azarael? Was that its name?” Keren asked.
“You did not hear? He spoke it with the thousand tongues upon his wings! It was his voice that shook the mountain to its core, and sent us fleeing into these mortal husks of flesh. Do not summon him again, we beg you!”
Keren arched one eyebrow. “Oh? Then you must swear eternal fealty to us, or my beloved will loose his boundless wrath upon you…!”
Akar chuckled and set her aside. “There now, my heart. You must show mercy to those who have repented of their misdeeds.” He stood and addressed the brethren: “You are men now, and must learn to behave accordingly. Mercy will be shown, granted you repent of the evil you have done and turn your hearts to God.”
“Gladly will we follow your example,” they said together, their eyes earnest. “Please, teach us to be righteous!”
Keren eyed them suspiciously. “How is it you are not all mad?”
“We learnt from this one, who has shown us the way. Much there is in the world of men that cannot be seen. Yet we will never forget what lies just beyond the edge of sight. Titanic spirits wage war about this mortal plane. We know what awaits at the threshold of death, and do not take it lightly!”
Akar raised the hilt of his sword, flickering with dying shards of power. The blade had been completely consumed. “It seems the blessing was meant for this confrontation alone. How much did that monk know; he who walked so closely in the Divine will?”
Keren shivered at the memory of those laughter-filled eyes. “Perhaps as much as any of us can hope to know…” She examined herself and noticed the Kirin’s blessing, too, was fading. The memory, however, would always be with her.
Necrosis (The Omens of Gaia Book 1) Page 28