The goddess howled. The sound reverberated through everything making even the stars appear to shake. The giant maw of the rift convulsed like snapping jaws. Bannor felt moisture well in his ears and trickle down his neck. Laramis, Irodee, Euriel and Janai all pitched and writhed, their bodies tortured by the agonies of a god. Wren continued to struggle in Hecate’s magical grip, the fierce blue light of her Nola grappling with the black tendrils of Hecate’s malice.
He kept up the pressure, inexorably ripping away the strands that gave the goddess her power. He couldn’t strip away her immortality, but he could take everything else, leave her with nothing, the same way she planned to do with him.
One. Two. Five. Ten. Dozens to go, but her resistance dwindled.
“Stop!” Hecate boomed.
“Let go of Wren! Free Sarai!” he yelled back.
“No!” Her efforts to crush Wren doubled, she pushed more power through Sarai’s body. If he didn’t kill Sarai, Hecate would.
Let her go. Damn you. You can’t kill Wren from within Sarai’s body. It limits you, and I’ve taken too much of your power. Fight me; give up your grudge. Kill me. Free Sarai.
A new sun appeared to dawn as Hecate’s energies fountained upward like titanic fans whipped and spun into a gale.
Twenty. Thirty. So exhausted. All or nothing now. This last strike would destroy Hecate. The core of her being, the roots of her godhood were like pillars. They would not snap. They must be shattered.
He parted his hands, ready to smash the remainder between his palms. “Surrender!” he commanded.
“You don’t have the courage, Garmtur.” Hecate snarled. “You’re too much like me. You’re too selfish to deprive yourself of this flesh. She is mine. You are mine. You surrender.”
Hecate clawed at the savant with her magic. Wren screamed.
“I will!” he yelled.
“You won’t!”
His heart doubled in his chest. Wren’s light flickered and began to go out. Hecate laughed.
Bannor closed his eyes and slammed his hands together. In his mind, the two halves of the Garmtur sheared into Hecate’s godhood. The backlash slammed into him as Hecate’s shriek boiled the ether. Lightning laced the sky, and clouds flew across the face of the rift.
His eyes opened in time to see the fire in Hecate’s eyes snuffed out. The flesh of her body, Sarai’s body, flickered and turned translucent. A black pulsation that must be the silhouetted heart of the goddess grew still.
The sky and everything around them went quiet. Wren dropped to the turf. Hecate swayed like an uprooted tree in the wind.
“You did it,” she said with surprise in her voice.
Bannor only stared at the creature. He felt like a shell with all its insides burned out. Like him, any words he spoke would be empty now. This was no victory. The battle had been lost.
Hecate reached toward him. Her hand shook and agony twisted her features. Her hollow eyes never left his. “Dying—never—hurt—like this—before…” She sank down like a figure of wax too long in the sun.
He wanted to turn away but couldn’t. He’d killed Hecate and the person he loved most. The pain of the backlash felt like soothing balm compared to the agony in his heart. Hecate was right. He had done it. Nothing could change that, or excuse it.
“Bannor…” The word drifted from where Hecate lay. The sound lingered in the air for a long time then faded.
Gone. Both of them.
The giant body of the goddess gleamed as flashes of lightning illuminated the area. The tissues collapsed and drained away like melting ice. In moments, the mass dwindled to become a single, small form huddled in fetal position, its silvery hair spilled out across the ground.
Bannor forced his spent body to crawl forward. What might have been only paces before seemed like leagues now. He slogged through the sticky sluice that was all that remained of Hecate’s corporeal body.
His trembling hands unfolded Sarai’s naked form; warmth still lingered in her body. He gathered her blood-slick body into his arms and held her close. She felt so cold.
“My Star,” his voice cracked. “Odin, I—I’m so—sorry.”
Her body twitched. Her eyelids cracked, but did not open. Her lips moved but said nothing.
“I wish—” Bannor’s body shook. He didn’t have the strength to wish anything. He couldn’t put life back in a bug now. “Oh, Odin. I love you. Don’t … please … don’t…”
Her eyes flickered open, and a wan lavender glow shone in them. Her hand trembled trying to reach for his. He placed his hand so she could grasp it. She searched the sky as if unable to find his face. “You are,” she shuddered. “my One, always…” The light in her eyes went out, and the pressure on his hand went lax.
For him, it seemed the universe went silent. He kept listening … hoping for another word that was never uttered. It felt as if a leaden weight crashed down on his chest. To this moment, he’d hoped, wished that somehow, some way, it would come out in the end.
She lay still, her crumpled body growing cold. Sarai was dead, and he had taken her life. Now, all that remained was for him to join her. All he needed to do was let go. Only the Garmtur had held him together this long. His wracked and burned body was only meat pushed by the force of his Nola. Alpha. Omega. Maybe he could break the chain here.
“Bannor!” It was Wren’s voice, weak and not far away. “Bannor?” He couldn’t move to see where the sounds came from.
The savant crawled into view. He barely recognized her swollen and blackened face. Little more than shreds remained of her armor, and her body looked as though she’d been striped with a skirge. “Oh my…” She collapsed face down in the mud. After a moment, she rolled onto her back with effort. “We … we…” she puffed. “The rift. Need to—seal it.”
From the corner of his eye he could make out the black spire. Its blackness was like the bleakness that had swallowed his heart. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t help anyone. In this war, both sides lost. He and Wren could only watch helplessly as their world was ripped asunder.
Tears filled his eyes. He’d tried so hard, only to fail in everything. As Hecate said, it was only a matter of time now.
Something moved in the darkness. The figure moved among the bodies sprawled on the battlefield. As it came toward him, he realized it was a tall slender man: Wren’s father.
The mage knelt by his daughter who groaned. The lines of his dusky features were grave, and he ran a hand through his russet hair.
He muttered a curse and turned to whistle into the darkness. Winged horses galloped over, nickering and tossing their heads. He placed Wren on the back of one and strapped her in, then moved to arrange to do the same with the others.
Each with their burden, the huge white animals followed him like an honor guard in a parade. He stopped in front of Bannor and shook his head. The man gestured and Bannor felt himself and Sarai float off the ground until they were hovering a few paces from the ground.
“Can’t die yet,” he said. “Still work to do. You promised me anything I wanted.” He closed his eyes and held his out arms like wings. His body shimmered and swelled, turning from flesh to gleaming white.
The name was numb on Bannor’s lips. “Bomarc.”
The great animal only whinnied. The other horses responded with calls of their own. He felt himself lowered into the saddle and the straps lash around him and Sarai’s still body.
Bomarc turned abruptly and galloped toward the rift. His wings boomed and thrust them into the sky. The group circled, gathering altitude. In the east, the first vestiges of the sun were appearing. A rainbow gleamed in the dim tangerine light. Bomarc swung round and aimed straight toward the heart of the rift.
Bannor remembered nothing beyond that.
* * *
Love, whoever could be so foolish to be undone by that feeble emotion..?
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’
Epilogue
« ^
Bannor blinked. He found himself staring at a ceiling tiled with war shields. Emblems from a hundred unknown clans stared down at him with the slitted eyes of griffons, dragons, talonhunters, nightsteeds and a dozen others he could not name. The pungent smell of burning scalebark, ale and roasted meat crowded the smoky air.
Like an unexpected jab to the chest, the memories flooded back. Hecate. Sarai. What had happened? He shoved away the heavy pelts that had been tucked around his body. A cold draft of air hit his bare chest causing his skin to prickle. All his clothing was gone save the leathern breechclout he now wore. Neat stitches criss-crossed the cuts and lacerations caused by days of conflict, his burns and abrasions treated with unguents and balm.
Not far away, he heard a rhythmic rasping, and what sounded like a woman humming. Someone sweeping? Speculation was swept aside as memories flooded back. He had failed to protect Sarai. He had broken a solemn promise to her and himself. Shame left a bitter metallic taste in his mouth.
How much time had passed? He recalled going toward the rift.
Bomarc. The animal had actually been Wren’s father in disguise. The wizard had gathered the fallen after the battle. They flew toward the rift and…
Did Titaan die?
He swung his feet off the fur-covered pallet and looked around the large bedchamber. The bed itself was huge, made for a man half again as tall. Unmortared stone made up the smooth walls rising to an arched ceiling some ten paces up. Engravings and runes decorated the wooden timbers, dragons, griffons, and other creatures chasing one another across the polished wood beams. Something reverberated in the warm air like a giant heart.
This made no sense. He should be dead, and Wren nearly so. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his face. Considerable time had passed considering the growth on his chin.
He leaned forward and pushed himself to stand. Pain shrieked through him. With a grunt he fell back, dots dancing in his vision. The room spun. When he tried to view the surroundings in his other-seeing, a shock rang through him. Everything appeared empty and cold, the threads of cosmos no longer visible. He’d pushed the Garmtur to its limit. Did he burn himself out, as the Queen feared he might? Or was the Garmtur simply injured and weak like himself?
The click of heels on stone drew his attention to the doorway. A giant woman with a heart-shaped birthmark on her neck, shimmering gold hair and fiery green eyes paused in the entry. A fabric that looked like liquid silver clung to her full body, its shiny surface reflecting all the surroundings. She wore several rings and many other pieces of ornate jewelry that glittered in the torchlight. Aside from her beauty, something about the woman made his injured body hum like a plucked bowstring.
“You awake—good,” he felt her voice, more than he heard it. It wasn’t underhearing like he shared with Wren. He experienced her words. Even a whisper from this creature would possess tremendous power. She moved toward him, her steps slow, measured, and graceful. Her presence filled the room. He heard her heart beating and felt his own slowly match the syncopation. “It has been a long time, Garmtur.”
His pulse quickened. Something about her reminded him of Hecate, the pale vision that spoke with him in the dream world. This creature was, if anything, more breathtaking than Hecate. Something was wrong. In any event, it didn’t matter. He’d killed Sarai and himself with her, even if his body hadn’t followed suit. He must find what remained of Sarai. In his condition, he would never be able to do that. Not without help.
This person could help, but would she. Play along. What did she say? Long time? “A long time? Since what?”
The woman smiled, the torchlight glinted from every plane and angle on her striking face. The room grew warmer and the scent of dewflowers wafted around him. “Since our last meeting. It has been twelve millennia. You wore a different body then.”
Bannor frowned. “You mean the Garmtur then, not me.”
She stepped close. A warm aura surrounded her body like the heat from a fire. It made his skin tingle. “Though each host body is different, you are always the Garmtur. You are Bannor now, Jhandor before, and Hajalor before that, but always you remain the Garmtur.” She reached out and touched one of the bruised sections of his arm. A shock went through his flesh, the hair on his body stiffened. His skin glowed as though lit from inside, and the wound vanished in a sparkle.
The woman nodded. “As before, very receptive to my magic.”
“Who are you?”
She smiled and he felt that surge of warmth again. “Someone soon to be your very best friend, Bannor Starfist. I only ask you remember it.”
His heart was too barren for friends right now. Sarai was dead. Everything he loved lay in ruins. He wasn’t even sure his friends had survived.
“Come.” The woman held out a hand to him.
He sensed a forced patience in her manner, a creature wanting to hurry, but too prideful to express urgency. What was the point? Why do anything now? He felt so heavy inside. Something about the way she said ‘friend’ suggested she had something miraculous to offer. He only wanted one thing though, and even a god couldn’t bring back Sarai.
He had nothing to lose but time. Wincing from the pain, Bannor took her hand. Her skin felt like layers of silk, and a surge of strength rushed through him. His pain vanished. What had taken great effort moments ago, he now did with ease. He rose to stand beside her.
She looked down at him from a height that must be at least equal to Irodee’s. Her green eyes sparkled. She brushed her hair back, and the strands shimmered and crackled like golden fire. Turning, she led him toward the archway. The mirrored cloth on her body made rosy reflections on his chest, and it felt like tiny fingers of warmth dancing across his body.
His bare feet padded on the cold stone. The hugeness of the hall made him feel tiny and exposed. Armaments of more varieties than he could name decorated the walls. One thing Bannor knew for certain, this was a place of war. Many a warrior had stalked these corridors, the floors worn smooth by their pacing, aching to join the battles he saw depicted in the tapestries and paintings that filled the few empty spaces between the weapon displays.
A stoneworked archway opened out onto a balcony giving him his first look into the place where he’d been brought. He stopped and gazed up at gold spires that rose high above the domes and buttresses of a gigantic fortress. Everything was silhouetted against a velvety black sky cut through with clouds of emerald and violet. Stars blazed from this vivid backdrop like reflecting mirrors. All the colors and contrasts were so bright and distinct that it made his eyes hurt to look without blinking. Men and women astride dragons, winged horses and griffons flew patterns around the highest parapets. Armored guards in the tabards of a hundred nations patrolled the lower battlements.
Mouth abruptly dry, Bannor swallowed. “Where are we?”
The mysterious woman only tugged on him in answer, drawing him down the hall away from the riveting sight. He could not resist her and trailed in her wake, his gaze drawn back to what glimpses he could snatch through the openings. Nothing even in his imaginings came close to what he’d seen. It was like the descriptions of the god-cities in the legends.
They turned off the main corridor and into narrow passage lined with heavy ironbound doors. The woman selected the third they came to and pulled him inside.
The chamber looked much like the one where he’d been kept, a high arched roof, a pallet, a vanity, and few other sleeping amenities. His gaze was drawn back to the pallet again. A silk-clad figure lay nestled among the skins, chest slowly rising and falling in a slumber.
In the shadowy light, he saw only the pointed ears and the curve of a woman’s face. His heart jumped, perhaps there was a miracle … he stepped closer, reaching out to touch the face of his loved.
He stopped. The skin was too dark, and the figure too full. The hair was red-blonde and not silver. It hit him. “Meliandri?” He looked to the silver-clad lady. “Why is she here? Hecate destroyed her mind.”
The silver wo
man raised an eyebrow, and pointed to the slumbering figure. He looked back and saw that Meliandri had begun to stir. Her eyelids fluttered. How was that possible? All that had remained of the elven lady was a husk.
The woman’s green eyes parted, and she drew a deep breath. Her fingers twisted in the bedding and Bannor saw her brow furrow. She stretched and her eyes opened fully. She blinked rapidly.
Her lips moved and she spoke in befuddled voice. “My One?”
It felt as though a hammer hit him in the chest.
She reached out to him. “How did I get here? Where’s Mother and Janai—?” Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened. She focused on her hand. “Oh—my—Bannor!” Her voice rose to shriek.
Still confused himself, he rushed to sit by her and take her hands.
“Easy,” he soothed. “It’ll be all right…” He glanced up at the lady standing in the doorway, arms folded, head cocked to one side as though enjoying their bewilderment. He saw his own confused face reflecting in the mirror surface of her blouse. “It’s really Sarai?” he asked.
The woman nodded and grinned. The lady’s smile was something to behold, it made the whole room seem to glow.
“Of course, I’m me!” Sarai snapped, sitting up on the pallet. “Who—else—would…” She stopped, features contorting, green eyes misting. Her body trembled. “I remember—You killed Hecate. Killed—me. She took a long time … to … fade. I saw your face. Didn’t want to leave you…” She hugged him tight. “I was floating in a sea of stars…”
She pressed her face into the curve of his neck. The warmth of her breath on his skin made him tingle. The feel of her body against his caused him to tremble. He ached with a feeling that words couldn’t express. His loved hadn’t died. She was here in this other body, somehow preserved after he killed her to save everything he knew. The shame washed through him in a hot wave, and he crushed her in his arms to shut it out. He never would have hurt her if there had been another way. He’d tried so hard. “I love you so much,” he muttered. “I thought I killed you, and all I wanted to do was die myself.” Tears ran down his cheeks.
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