World's End

by Will Elliott

  ‘The field I have cast shall do much,’ said Vashun. ‘Those with mage eyes, note the airs, if you can see them. Odd patterns begin. It’s something I wished to try on Vous, but Avridis feared it would kill him.’ His shoulders hunched up in a silent laugh. ‘With a Spirit already at rest? No harm. Ah, but here is something unknown.’ He motioned to another of those who had come just to haul equipment. A metal canister was dragged with difficulty across the ground: one of those stolen from outside Vous’s chamber. With little ceremony Vashun undid its lid and let its pure airs seep out.

  For a long while they waited in meditative silence. They sat to eat a feast of fine meat, fruit and wine. Izven began to eye the world outside Vashun’s invisible fence with impatience. The air outside was so thick with an ash blizzard there was no chance yet of returning to the caravan.

  A sweep of Vashun’s arm indicated the girls and women brought as Offerings. All of them bar Lalie were chained in a line with large nervous eyes. ‘Mayor, to pass time, some … entertainment? It shall do no harm to the process.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’ said Izven.

  ‘Of benefit, if anything. To the energies. Certain emotions play well, contain power. A feast of emotions poured into the airs. I suggest you leave one untouched. A courtesy, for the Spirit.’ Vashun stepped between Lalie and the others while the mayor and some of his party had their way with the Offerings. Lalie turned away, annoyed by their cries and pleas.

  Vashun lowered his lips to her ear. ‘Does this business not … please your tastes, child? I find a certain humour. You shall too, perhaps. A pig who smells the dishes and wine from afar may be excited by his invitation to the table. Do you know the rest of the joke? Mm. Ah, you are older than you know, and wise.’ He cupped her head in his stiff cold palms, turned it gently to the scene of writhing bodies in the ash. He whispered, ‘You have done such things as these men do now. You have tasted yourself what they taste. It is certain. All of us wear every garment of soul that’s made, by the end. We all dance every dance. Many lifetimes we reside, my young ancient one. We experience all.’

  ‘I have tasted it in this life,’ she said. She shrugged away from his touch.

  ‘Mm. Answer this. Do you consider these men, these women, worthy of what approaches? Worthy even of a look at your dear one?’

  ‘They are pigs to me. But it is for Inferno to say.’

  ‘Ahh! I will show you what I think, mm? I will show you the rest of the joke.’ Vashun pulled back his robe sleeve. His thin white arm was barely covered by skin and flesh. Wrapped around it was a black line thin as string. He prised it loose and let it hang from his hand like a short whip. ‘Have you seen these perform?’ he whispered. She didn’t answer. ‘Sharp. It has spells about it. To raise energies. The finest sacrificial blade you’ve known, young ancient one, was not near as fine as this.’

  The Strategist approached the nearest pair of writhing bodies, an Offering’s shoulders held down by a hooded mystic. The mystic made sucking noises, sipping from her distress as another raped her. Vashun stood over them, grinning down. Suddenly his teeth were as big as a wolf’s. He lashed the thin instrument around twice with the whoosh of cut air. Both men’s heads lurched up, a grimace on their faces. A line of blood appeared in the middle of the naked one’s back. It seemed slow, the way his body fell apart along that slit, along with the victim’s beneath him. The other’s head rolled slowly away, pouring itself like a spilled chalice into the ash.

  Two mystics who stood nearby gaped then ran blindly into the dark ash storm. The warriors drew their swords, hesitant, unsure if this were a proper part of the ritual or not. Vashun cast off his coat. His Strategist robe flashed with deep red, the colour of his own lust awakened. His eyes grew and shone red. His rasping deathly scream rang impossibly loud and drawn out. It made even Lalie cower back. Only then did the others seem to notice him. The guards dropped their weapons, faces to their hands, blood gushing through their fingers.

  Smoke poured from Vashun’s eyes and between his grinning teeth. Through the group he stalked, lashing figure eights with his thin blade. Heads and limbs fell. The mayor and his victim were the last ones alive. Vashun cast something to freeze the mayor as he fumbled for his clothes. Slowly, so slowly Vashun dealt with him.

  When it was finally over he took Lalie’s hand and brought her to the middle of the circle. Gently he stroked her hair and whispered to her, speaking for many long hours of the things he’d seen, and the things he’d done. She tried not to listen, but she found his words cast pictures in her mind so it almost seemed she was there at his shoulder while he did those deeds. She learned what he had meant when he said his curiosities were all sated. Her skin got icy chills where his fingers touched her. When she tried to squirm away his magic held her there.

  The field he’d cast did its work. Now and then he stood to stroll among the slain, calling forth the god with chants Lalie had never heard. Elementals came near but did not cross the circle’s boundary. Heat trickled up through from the depths. Something shifted in the Ash Sea, making the ground shiver. Long fingers of fire threaded up from beneath. One reached and caressed the flesh on Lalie’s thigh. She screamed. As if she’d called them, more threads of fire came. ‘There is one flame,’ said Lalie, declaring herself the Spirit’s friend. But it made no difference, the flames burned her just as hot.

  Vashun watched her writhing in the fires. ‘How is it now, girl? Is it what you wanted?’ He delighted in her pain, then delighted in his own as the flames reached for him in turn. Cracks split the ground and ash sank through it like sand through fingers. In a rush the Spirit came. Lalie felt an instant’s joy before a blast of heat unmade her. The Strategist too was swallowed, a grin on his face. Should Avridis, Blain and the others see him now, he’d have given a world for their thoughts. They would be entertained by the Spirit’s mischief, at least … whether or not they knew who had brought him back to the surface world.

  36

  AWAKENED

  Inferno emerged from dreams into the physical world with great surprise. The strange airs that had funnelled down to his place of rest had woken him by the pain they’d caused, but despite this he was glad.

  He found he was a shapeless collection of energy; he could not remember what his body had previously been. So he experimented with forms for a while, settling at last on something not unlike those beings who had woken him. Inferno became vaguely human-looking, though much larger.

  He forgot too why he had been sent to this place of rest. All he remembered was something about a frantic mood and a fierce hunger, of filling the hunger with things that tasted wonderful. No such hunger troubled him now – the memory of it was confusing.

  He examined the dead human bodies about him, seeking patterns in their mess, but there was little to learn. Why had they come here? Surely to hurt him. So many times had humans intruded on his dreams, dancing about fires, saying things he did not understand, directing thought and feverish emotion towards him. Why did humans need to hunt him in the physical realm too? In the non-physical realms, they had far more power … but here, their physical blades and spells could never have hurt him much. Was it in revenge for the city he had eaten?

  Nearby were elementals of fire and wind. They offered themselves to him. He took them, enjoyed their touch, incorporated them within himself. Quickly he snuffed out their personalities and imposed his own. Their energies and knowledge he kept.

  Ah, now he remembered: it was the other Spirits who had cast him down and buried him in ash. Far across the world, he felt their distant movements. Tempest was making great winds to inhibit Valour’s movements. Mountain pushed against the sky prisons with all his strength, ignoring other happenings. And there seemed to be a new one among them. Strange! They were busy, they were frightened. Frightened that Valour might go across World’s End, for the Wall was gone. How much things had changed! Inferno’s sleep must have been long.

  As soon as he moved outside the human-cast power field, N
ightmare became aware of him. Nightmare rushed through the skies, already on his way here. Nightmare was strong, unpredictable. It was not a good time for Inferno to fight him.

  Inferno called energies to himself from the airs, but the Ash Sea had little power of the kind he needed, other than inside the little field the humans had put up. The other Spirits had made sure the airs here would be empty. Inferno ran from the Ash Sea and found his legs moved quickly.

  The new Spirits were deathly afraid. Their fear bled through into the magic wherever he went. He stopped and scooped a handful of stones, melted them with heat, even though it would anger Mountain. He tossed the melted stuff on the ground before him, observed the patterns it made and divined information. Why are the Spirits afraid? he asked the melted stone.

  The Pendulum will swing high if a Spirit crosses World’s End, the pattern answered. The other gods had managed to halt the Pendulum swing, and meant now to keep it still where it was, for aeons if need be, while humans re-established their domains. The Spirits did not wish to go south. They did not wish to battle their strange and mighty counterparts there.

  What of the dragons? Inferno asked, melting more stone and tossing it before him.

  The dragons too wish it to swing no higher, he perceived in the patterns he’d flung. The dragons had changed their plans. They had meant for the gods – some, or perhaps all of them – to go across World’s End, so that their prison’s foundation would weaken, even if it meant confronting the foreign Spirits of Levaal South. But something had changed. The dragons could now break free of the skies and descend without that desperate plan having to unfold. They no longer wanted any of the Spirits to cross the boundary. The dragons were uneasy about the foreign gods, as much as Inferno’s kindred were.

  Inferno contemplated all this. For now, the dragons and gods of the North were in agreement, on one matter at least. But Inferno had no friends among the dragons or the Spirits. He did not wish to be put to sleep again. He was awake but not yet strong, not nearly strong enough to battle the other great powers; any one of them could probably cast him down again. And although he had no friends in the southern realm, at least he had not made enemies there. No one there would hunt him, as Nightmare did this very moment, fast closing the distance between them …

  So Inferno ran for World’s End. He got there quickly. He paused before crossing, sensing the other gods recoil in distress, as they forgot their work with Valour and became aware of him, became aware of where he was, what he intended. But there was nowhere else for him. Inferno crossed the boundary. His footsteps scalded the southern land as he sought a place to hide. Perhaps Nightmare would follow him across. Valour surely would.

  37

  DRAGONS AND SPIRITS

  Few human beings had ever truly understood the Spirits. When here or there some minds had hit upon the truth about them, seldom were those truths held distinct from the myths and fables.

  Nor did humanity understand the dragons any better. With nearly all of human history lived apart from the creatures, few would ever have predicted things could change drastically within the span of one human life … let alone could any foresee that such a change could be weeks or even days away. Even as cracked lightstone pieces began to rain down, some suspected, but few truly knew what it meant.

  So it was that life went quietly on for that brief subdued span of time, while the castle and its Aligned cities were cleared of the old regime’s remnants. The biggest news in the northern parts was not the occasional shiver passing through the ground, the occasional lightstone rain; it was the new lord, the Otherworld lord named Shadow who had stepped from fables. For most, the new lord was sign enough the world had forever changed: Shadow was a peace-bringer, a purifier of evil. These Aligned lands for now were free from tyranny, free after all they had endured. There were no reasons now for war between men.

  There was also talk that Vous had become a benign Spirit, a friend to humanity. Many had seen him. He’d appeared in a field where a refugee caravan headed north. Flower petals had rained down, the air had filled with beautiful scents and music, and fountains had risen from the soil. A kind of garden had erupted around the road, delighting the weary travellers. They had few other memories to recall than that: dancing gaily, feeling well fed when it was over. Some of them were cured of sickness and injury.

  Strange times, these.

  In the south, news went slow, with most travellers still fearing war and Tormentors roaming. It was slowly becoming known that something had slain most or all of the creatures – few guessed that Valour had done it. Still, taverns here and there had strange tales of new people. And the usual speculations followed: a war would come with them; they would ally with this or that city; they would take the world over, if not for Shadow’s protection … so on, so on. And did you hear that a man was seen riding south upon a dragon? No, not upon a drake. Upon a dragon …

  None but the gods knew that Inferno had awoken, and that he had crossed to the South. Not even Domudess, who had foreseen that future long years ago in the company of master seers. (Seen it among many alternate futures; he’d put stock in none of them.)

  The wizard had set up his tower again, placing it quite close to where it had been before. For he enjoyed this sparsely populated country, now with airs much cleaner thanks to the haiyens and their work. He knew the mayor and his men could come for him again, but they were easily enough avoided, whether or not Valour had given them gifts and blessings.

  He sat now on the uppermost floor, gazing out the high window, reflecting upon the night so long ago when the war mages first came screaming out the castle windows. How brief in the end was the reign which that night of violence and theft had signalled. That future too was one they’d foreseen, again one they’d not considered likely. They had made minor preparations on the off-chance it would come to pass, preparations completely insufficient when the attack began.

  The encounter with Tauk had plunged Domudess’s mood. When speaking with the haiyens, they had made it seem that there was really no valid reason humans could not be persuaded to walk a different path, that they would lay down weapons and grudges for just a moment and listen. He sat in deep meditation, trying to allay his sadness. Whatever now approached them could be so easily avoided … but then, had it not always been so?

  Footsteps tapped up the tower’s winding stairway. The haiyens could materialise here in this room without the need for doors and stairways, but they climbed the steps to alert him of their coming as a courtesy. He stood, surprised to be visited. When they parted, the haiyens had said it would be many days before they next spoke – they had much work to do to purify the airs throughout the realm. In thought, Domudess said: ‘Welcome back.’

  ‘A god went south,’ said the haiyen named Luhan – he had adopted the name for the convenience of humans he dealt with. Domudess collapsed back on his chair.

  ‘Which god?’

  ‘The fire Spirit.’

  ‘Inferno? That can’t be …’

  Sensing his panic, the haiyen came near, emanating a gentle calmness over him. Domudess gave Luhan a grateful look, and thought the matter through. Of course. The Strategists. If Blain had escaped, the others may have done too … men who knew the science of god-making. ‘Be at peace,’ said Luhan.

  ‘What will happen now?’

  ‘The Teacher of Many Arts is nearest the boundary. It will be first to come here, as we asked it to do. It will do nothing to provoke the Spirits here, nor the people, but the dragons may rage at its coming. That, as you know, is beyond anyone’s control, and they would rage at whatever Spirit crossed from our realm. For our people, that Spirit is benign. Let us hope it is benign for the people of this land. We’d not have survived the changes to our realm, without that Spirit’s teachings.’

  ‘Do we know how our Spirits shall react to its presence here?’ thought Domudess.

  A burst of mirth came to him from the haiyen, so keen that Domudess could not help smiling in spite of h
ow he felt. Now he saw how they had managed to convince him Tauk would see to reason; when they laughed, all the world around them briefly flickered as if set alight with joy and mirth. Luhan’s answer was, ‘Of course not!’

  Like the people of her realm, Aziel gave hardly any thought to the gods.

  She strolled now through the castle’s higher floors, seeking out a throne room to better suit the army of administrators who constantly came and went. Indeed there were more administrators than members of any army she commanded … the administrators outnumbered the half-giants guarding her vulnerable reign.

  Eric of course was not to be found. What he had done – ‘Favouring’ a room full of administrators and clerks – had at least yielded some benefits. They attacked their tasks with furious energy. They’d recruited workers from the cities, who’d cleared the castle lawns of all signs of Vous’s massacre. Masses of people were being moved from the old cities into those new ones the Arch had had stoneshaper mages build near the castle. A new start for thousands of people. Eric would be pleased at all this charity … and even Aziel conceded there was some sense in it. She needed those people desperately, needed their loyalty. Being fed and housed and left in peace (for a while, at least) might be enough for her to gain it.

  A voice at the window she strolled past startled her out of her skin, or just about. A tremulous voice said, ‘Sorry, Aziel! O so terribly sorry we startled you.’

  ‘Ghost!’ she said, and she laughed. ‘You’re still here? I’d have thought you’d have gone when Father went.’

  ‘No, Aziel. This place is home. But there are … strange things …’ The faces battled fiercely for the chance to hold the window glass.

  ‘Stop that: share the glass. I’ll speak to you all. What strange things?’

  All their voices spoke at once: ‘We sometimes … stay in the outer panels of the windows. And watch outwards. Outwards, at the realm. We sometimes go forth and look around.’